The Coming Dawn
by Brian the Bard
Summary: The Soldier, strong yet brittle. The Tinkerer, curious yet naïve. The Smith, calm yet stubborn. The Slave, daring yet rash. These are the four that walk this broken world, each a shining light. Their paths will meet and fates cross to face the growing blight. Powers of old they shall call upon, remnants of an ancient might, to bring forth the coming dawn against the darkest night.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a Great War fic. As such, it does not yet follow the color naming convention. It will not be adopted until the conclusion of the war.**

 **A/N: As of 1/14/2017, Roosterteeth has released a World of Remnant segment on "The Great War". I will begin by saying that this fanfiction will not adhere to the information given plot-wise (notable locations from the segment "Kingdoms" will be included, however). As a result, this is now officially a full-on AU (or is it UA-Universe Alteration?), whereas before there was some leeway for speculation regarding the history and events of the war.**

 **Think of it like the Star Wars Expanded Universe (Mara Jade, the resurrection of Palpatine, Yuuzhan Vong, etc...). All of the stories and characters in there were somewhat of a pseudo-canon, at least until The Force Awakens blew it all out of the water. In this case, it would be the WoR segment.**

 **To be honest, I had been hoping that the WoR on the war would not be released for a while, so that I could further flesh out a story that could stand on its own. That being said, after some deliberation, I have decided that I will continue to mostly stick with my original story, albeit with some possible changes in detail following the release of this WoR. As mentioned in chapter 7, the purpose of this fanfiction is to explore the morally gray areas concerning events like the Great War. Despite the way it was portrayed, I doubt it was as simple as the Valean king waving a relic and flattening the enemy. Now I have never experienced war first-hand, but I think it's safe to say that with any conflict, questionable choices and actions will always be abound, and they have a way of changing a person, whether for better or worse.**

 **If you've already watched it, I hope that you can enjoy this with an open mind. There are certainly some parts that matched canon, but so far this fic was developed prior to the WoR. If you have not watched it, the same message applies.**

 **Apologies for holding you hostage with this overly long Author's note. Without further ado, here is The Coming Dawn.**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

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 **Chapter 1:** Tinkering and Blacksmithing

* * *

 _It all began with noble intentions; the first step in an attempt to fight back against the Grimm, and to make a world in which humans could do more than just struggle against the darkness that sought to devour them._

 _However, with these intentions came a seed of doubt, one that was nurtured by growing fear and distrust. The seed would eventually sprout into a clash of ideologies, and escalate into one of the most cataclysmic events ever to befall Remnant in recorded history. It would come to be known as the Great War._

 _Quite ironic, really. It was the war itself that paved the way for humanity. The misguided attempt to suppress self-expression to better combat the Grimm backfired. As a result, the war laid down the foundation for the celebration of human spirit._

 _And with all wars, there are its heroes._

 _They were among the first individuals to further expand upon the ways in which Aura could be used, as well as aiding in the spread of knowledge of Semblances, to tip the scales of the Great War and the eternal struggle against the Grimm in their favor. Although their contributions during those dark times would herald an age of diversity, prosperity, and peace, it was not their fate to be immortalized within the golden pages of history._

 _Interesting._

 _Were it not for the meddling of a_ _ **certain**_ _individual, they might as well have been nameless souls among the masses, fated to die along with the rest of them. But_ _ **you**_ _, you gave them what they needed to rise above the rest and bring an answer to humanity. To be the spark that ignited hope._

 _But it matters not, Wizard._

 _They were very good pawns, but a pawns nonetheless._

 _If this is your only answer, then by all means, keep creating your so-called "heroes", your beacons of hope and light._

 _Because wherever light shines…_

… _darkness will follow._

* * *

"Julius!"

Azure eyes gazed up as his head turned in response, covered in soot. Though, normally, his skin and hair should have been fair and blond, respectively.

"Morning, Don!"

Julius rose from his seat by the workbench, attempted to pat himself down, and met the figure by the door. Having been indoors for a good part of the day, the afternoon sun made it difficult for Julius' eyes to adjust to the Winchester and the town behind him.

Tarnsbury was a smaller town, having a population of just over five thousand and growing. It had been founded as a frontier town some seven decades prior, which meant that it was still young, relatively speaking. It was surrounded by forests with the exception of farmlands to the northeast, and it was only three days north of the kingdom of Vale's borders. As such, the people of Tarnsbury were a hardy folk, making a living for themselves far from the reach of the capital, of which Julius and Donovan were no exception.

Said individual had a young deer slung over his shoulder, the result of a successful morning hunt. Every other time it had been wild hares and small game. Julius gave it a good look-over and whistled in mild surprise.

"And how on Remnant did you bag a buck?" Julius asked, knowing full well of Donovan's lack of stealth and subtlety in the forest. There was nothing to be done about it, given his bulkier frame. Furthermore, Julius, who spent more time indoors than out, would have fared no better.

"As luck would have it, I was setting up some traps when it sprung out of a bush and landed right next to me. It froze in surprise, and that gave me enough time to tackle and kill it." Donovan's chest puffed a bit as he responded, and true to his word, the hunting knife at his side was flecked with dried blood. The neck of the deer had a deep puncture wound as well.

"That's quite a haul. Dad'll be happy."

"Of course he'll be. Now we don't have to worry about buying meat for the next week or so."

Julius scoffed lightly with a smile. The Winchesters weren't wealthy by any means, but they were plenty well off.

"And since when did we have to worry about that?"

Donovan shrugged. "Beats me. Dad just always wanted us to pull our weight for the family."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Julius pointed a thumb back into the forge. "Speaking of which, when you're done with that, come back here. I've got something I want to show you."

Donovan raised an eyebrow and shifted the deer on his shoulder.

"Don't tell me you've been tinkering again. Unlike this deer here, we actually need those metals."

Julius raised his hands to defend himself. Donovan deadpanned as Julius gestured defensively in ways that obviously vindicated him from any possible wrongdoing.

"No, no, no! Not tinkering. _Inventing_. Trust me, you'll like it."

Of course, there was absolutely no way that Julius would do anything that seemed pointless, anything that could possibly set back the family in any way, shape, or form.

 _Like squandering workable forge metal_. Donovan sighed.

"When Dad finds out, he's probably going to blow up." he pointed out.

"Well… I might have already done that?" Julius offered with a guilty smile and a shrug. That explained the black face and hair. _Figures_. Donovan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'll see you in a bit. Need to bring this to the butcher."

Donovan turned to leave, and Julius did likewise, returning to the forge. Donovan's father always sought to maximize efficiency, and it reflected in everything he did and owned. Anvils, furnaces, bellows, tool shelves, workbenches, weapon racks, honing wheels, dust-powered power hammers, and a center worktable. All arranged in a way to expedite forging times. Julius walked over to the workbench, and upon it lay sheet metals of varying thicknesses and small parts. And next to it, leaning against the weapon stand, were two long, thin objects wrapped in cloth.

Julius smiled. Oh yes, Donovan would like it indeed.

* * *

A little while later, as the evening sun made its way under the horizon, Julius decided to call it a day with his _inventing_. With his face and hair rinsed free of soot, he tidied up the area and walked over to the door that connected the forge to the side of the Winchester residence. Just as he was about to open it, the door swung open, and Donovan entered alongside his father.

Brohn Winchester was a man of sturdy build, due to years working in the family's blacksmith business. Dark brown hair along with a thick mustache and beard with streaks of gray, barrel-chested, tempered arms, and a slight bit of a gut thanks to nights in the tavern and hearty dinners from the missus. However, were he Donovan's age, they might have been spitting images of one another.

Brohn came up to Julius and proceeded to pull him into a tight headlock. It only took a moment for Julius to realize why. He shot a glare at Donovan.

 _Nothing I could do about it_ , said the shrug and sly grin.

 _Traitor_ , Julius' eyes rolled in response.

Brohn was, by nature, a good-natured man. However, that did not mean he was above productivity, perseverance, and hard work, nor the time and effort that came along with it. That being said, he was a man of tough love when it came to teaching Julius and Donovan the ways of being moral, upstanding men-to-be. Tough love in the form of physical discipline, as expected of one who shaped metal for a living.

"So, Julius. Donovan here tells me you've been tinkering again," rumbled Brohn.

An exasperated sigh escaped from Julius.

"Again. Not tinkering. _Inventi-"_ was all Julius could say before the headlock tightened.

After he was released a moment later, Julius massaged his neck

"Ow."

Brohn crossed his arms shot him a glare. His metals were worth money, and money was precious.

"So, mind telling me what you've been doing with my metal?"

"Thought you'd never ask!" Julius responded with a smile. He proceeded to activate some of the glow dust on the walls by tapping it on the wall and placing them back into their sconces. As they were a milder form of burn dust, they glowed a warm, golden yellow. He then moved over to the weapon rack, and carried the objects over to the center worktable. With great care, he unwrapped the cover cloth on the first item.

It was now Donovan's turn to whistle. Brohn raised an eyebrow in curiosity. On the table lay a black, sleek mace with many flanges upon its head and a finely-cut burn dust crystal resting in the center of the head, which Brohn took and examined. He hefted it in his hands, rotated it, and took a few swings with it, concluding his assessment and setting it down with a slow nod.

"It's a good weapon. Solid and strong, with a good weight to it. The dust on the head is also a fine touch. And speaking of which, where did you get it from? The ones we use are the large, unrefined blocks for powering the forge, nothing with a quality cut like this one."

At this point Brohn's eyes narrowed as he once again set his glare on Julius, to which Julius chuckled nervously.

Dust was worth money, and money was precious.

A tight headlock and interrogation later, Julius rubbed his neck again.

"The dust is there for a reason. If whoever bought it could use the dust in a battle somehow, they would have an edge."

Which prompted a snicker from Donovan, although he himself had given the mace a few swings and seemed to approve of it immensely.

"Poor choice of words there, Julius. And besides, how would they use the dust in a close quarters fight even if they could? I don't think the enemy would just sit and wait for them to aim."

"It's fine, Donovan." Brohn interjected with a raised hand. "Let the customer worry about that. All we need to do is raise the price a bit to accommodate for the dust crystal."

"Alright, alright, fine." Donovan conceded, placing the mace back onto the table.

"Julius, the second one?" asked Brohn, whose interest was now piqued.

"Right."

With the same amount of care given to the first weapon, Julius unwrapped the second object. The weapon within was a sword and a sheath. The handle was wrapped with leather that was treated with a blue sap from the local forest to enhance its durability against wear and tear. The sheath was colored pale white, with a dark gold trim at its mouth, and had two small leather straps.

Brohn made to pick up the weapon and draw the blade, but nearly lost his grip on it. He hummed in curiosity and surprise as he examined it. The blasted thing was heavier than it looked. Much heavier. After drawing the blade, his curiosity transformed into confusion. The blade was straight and uniform, and upon its hilt rested a small cross-guard. It was a simple weapon, although by no means was it useless. Rather, it was light and balanced, and it exuded an air of efficiency. A weapon that could get the job done.

So if it wasn't the sword…

"Care explaining to me exactly how much metal went into this sheath?"

The sheath, Brohn noted, was far too heavy to hold for an extended amount of time. Even strapped to the hip, it would be hard for anyone to be accustomed to the extra weight without some mild discomfort along the way. The amount of metal needed to make something this heavy…

His metals were worth money, and money was precious.

Donovan too was surprised at the sheath's weight after taking it from Brohn, and looked to Julius for an explanation as well.

"Uhh…"

Sensing another headlock, Julius intervened.

"Here, give it to me." He took the sword from Brohn and the sheath from Donovan.

With sword in one hand, Julius fumbled with the straps on the sheath until it rested perpendicular against his forearm. Ignoring the confused glances that he was receiving, He lifted the sheath to his chest level and took a basic, if unrefined, combat stance facing the other two. Confusion returned to surprise as the sheath, thin and unwieldy, sprung outwards and sidewayds into a full-sized heater shield. Julius stood there for a moment, gauging the two Winchester's reactions.

"Well? What do you think?"

The moment stretched, until Brohn shook his head in apparent disbelief before replying.

"What do I think? Dust be damned, I've never seen anything like it before. Incorporating the shield into the sheath like this is quite ingenious, really. Makes it much easier to carry compared to you standard sword and shield." A slight moment of hesitation "But-"

"Wouldn't it still weigh the same?" Donovan completed Brohn's thought seamlessly.

Julius collapsed the shield then, re-sheathed the sword, and carefully placed it back onto the table.

"Yeah. You're right about that," He chuckled in response. "But still, I think we can fetch a good price for these weapons."

Brohn snorted in approval and gestured to the weapons. "More than a good price, Julius. Both of these weapons are of fine make, and quite unique as well. No doubt people will be quite interested in them when we open shop tomorrow."

He then clasped a hand onto Julius' shoulder.

"It seems you've done quite a good job with everything I've taught you so far. If anything, this is the complete opposite of what a certain someone said about you today."

Donovan could only laugh nervously as Brohn released his hold on Julius and set his glare upon his son.

"Come on, you two. I can smell dinner cooking." Julius said to the Winchesters, one of whom had the other in a tight headlock. The smell of searing meat wafted tantalizingly towards his nose, with traces of local herbs and spices. Leave it to Elena Winchester to fill the stomachs of her working man and men-to-be with hearty, delicious food.

Julius Arc opened the forge door and stepped into the Winchester residence. A mix of wood and stone, the house had an essence of comfort and warmth, one that let anyone feel at ease. There really wasn't much else like it. It was where he lived for a good amount of his life. A place where he learned valuable lessons as he grew. A place where he fondly saw the Wincesters as his family.

A place where he could call _home_.

* * *

 **A/N: First of all, thanks for taking the time to read this. As of now (11/03/16), I have a general idea of where the story will go. I am also expecting future chapters to be longer in length (at least double). I will strive to update regularly, but as of now, college is a wild and unpredictable time. However, I should be able to get another chapter out within a week or at a week. Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Major locations, cities, and kingdoms are based on the current information given up to Volume 4 of RWBY (with a focus on World of Remnant).**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

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 **Chapter 2** : The Soldier

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The office wasn't drab by any means. Rather, it was gray, uniform, and spartan; there certainly was much to be desired when it came to interior furnishings. Of the four walls, only one had any kind of decoration: a large hanging map of the continent of Solitas. On it were lines demarcating provincial borders of the kingdom and dots representing important cities within them, the largest of which lied in the southeast — the capital city of Mantle.

Map aside, all that remained in the office was a single aspen desk, topped with stacks of papers, a table lamp, and some other essential office-related paraphernalia, paired with a leather executive chair.

And upon the chair sat a man. He was of middling age, with lines of white running through otherwise jet-black hair. However, his frame suggested otherwise. Broad shoulders and a square jaw were only two indicators among others that he was, physically, only just beginning to recede from his prime. He wore a military dress uniform of, unsurprisingly, light gray, and upon it were rows of ribbons upon its left breast and a white cord on the shoulder of the right. On the shoulders were insignias that identified the man as a Sergeant.

There was a knock on the door. Steely blue eyes rose from the papers on the desk.

"Enter."

The door opened, and the person in question complied, saluted, and stood at attention. He was a younger man, no older than twenty. His buzz-cut hair was black, and he was of a leaner build. His uniform was clean and sharp, with a single row of ribbons, and the insignias upon his shoulders marked him as a Corporal.

"At ease, Corporal Damascus."The Sergeant saluted in return.

His posture relaxed slightly, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards slightly.

"Higher-ups decided to bury you with more work, sir?" he noted the papers, no doubt tedious to work through. Important, but tedious nonetheless.

"Of course, Connor. But they're your higher-ups as well, so they won't think twice about burying you with old Sergeant Sullivan Byrnes," he replied with tone of dry sarcasm.

"Thank you, but no thanks, sir," Connor's chuckled, but only for a second as he noticed Byrnes' sullen stare. "May I inquire as to why you've called for me, sir?"

Byrnes' eyes hardened, but he chose to remain silent. Eventually, after an extended pause, however, he sighed.

"Corporal Damascus," he said in a quiet voice.

"Sir!" Connor snapped to attention, no doubt expecting orders from his superior.

"Why did you enlist in the military?"

Which was why he was that much more surprised.

"To serve and protect the kingdom of Mantle, sir!" he recited, having it burned into his memory from the very first day of his enlistment. However, that answered only elicited another sigh from Byrnes, who clasped his hands together and brought them to cover his mouth.

"It's a good answer, Damascus. However, it is not the one I am looking for. I will ask you once again. Why did _you_ enlist in the military?"

Slowly coming to the realization as to what the sergeant was asking for, Damascus took a moment of silence to consider his answer within that office. Why did he join? Not that he didn't know. It just took him some time to gather his thoughts.

"Well, I guess, sir, I just want to make sure that I can change people's lives for the better. Ever since the dawn of humanity, we've been fighting against the Grimm. But now, we also have to ensure that the kingdom can stand unified against the Grimm, otherwise we'll tear ourselves apart from within. I would like for the citizens to look up to us and feel secure."

That was what he believed, and he hoped it answered the question at hand. Byrnes seemed to consider the answer, and then leaned back into his seat.

"It's a good reason, one that I've heard before."

Connor waited for Byrnes to say more, but once again he went silent, as if there was something weighing on his mind.

"Regarding the reason why I called you here, Damascus. In a week from now, you, along with a company of your fellow soldiers from the Seventh Infantry Division, will be deployed to the town of Halitus for at least a year, in the northern Kingdom of Vale."

If Connor thought that he couldn't be any more surprised, he was once again caught off-guard by this turn of events.

"With all due respect, sir, why Vale? Mantle's military is tasked with the protection of the kingdom and its people, so I don't see how an intercontinental deplo —" he was cut off as Byrnes raised a hand towards him.

"Ensuring the safety of other kingdoms is integral to maintaining the peace and security of our own. You would do well to remember that," he responded, his insight and experience of the world greatly surpassing Connor's.

"Although it is true that we answer to our kingdom only, we cannot simply turn a blind eye to the plight of others. If any of the other kingdoms were facing turmoil and received no aid, the potential consequences could possibly be devastating. Thus, in order to prepare for the worst, we must assume the worst in any situation."

Although Connor had some doubts, he nonetheless agreed, not being able to find any obvious faults in Byrnes' reasoning.

"I understand, sir."

"That is good. For now, that is all I have to say regarding this matter. As for your upcoming deployment, you will be further briefed once you arrive at Halitus." Byrnes seemed to relax after this, and leaned back once again.

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, Corporal Damascus. You are dismissed," Byrnes said with a wave of his hand as he went back to his papers. Connor turned around and left the office.

Byrnes thought about the conversation that they just had, and he wondered if Connor's motivations were in the right place. It seemed idealistic, maybe even naïve, what Connor had told him.

 _Changing people's lives for the better, huh._

He hoped that Connor would be able to maintain that perspective after deployment. The details of why the company was being sent to Halitus seemed innocuous enough, but if one dug deep enough, the implications of what could possibly come to be were unsettling. If Byrnes' beliefs were correct, this would be an unprecedented event for Mantle. Among the paraphernalia on the desk, there was a small, rectangular metal box. Byrnes opened it and pulled out a cigar. After lighting the end, Byrnes took a long drag, hoping that it would calm his mind.

 _The coming weeks and months will be a precarious time for us, depending on how things go in Halitus_. _I can only pray we are ready for this. If not, we'll have to deal with far more than just the-_

* * *

"Grimm?"

Now that was something he hadn't expected when he asked the border guard about how things were doing out in the outskirts of the town borders.

"Aye. I've heard rumors of increased activity around the patrol routes from the other men. I'm not sure when they said it began, but it shouldn't be anything we can't handle yet."

That calmed Julius slightly.

"That's pretty good to hear. Anyways, I'll be right back with your gear."

Julius turned away from the counter and opened the door to the forge. There was a storefront for them to display and sell their gear and services, and it, along with the front of the house, faced the street. Upon the walls of the store were shelves displaying weapons and other tools for life in the town, and racks in the center open area with the same purpose. Business was stable, partly due in part to the relatively large selection of metal tools and weapons available for sale. They simply needed the right customer.

In the forge were Brohn and Donovan, who were heating metal and managing the temperature of the burn dust, respectively. They both wore heavy aprons over their clothing, and coating their bodies were sheens of sweat that evaporated almost instantly next to the heat of the forge.

"Dad, need the shortsword. The one that had the nicks on the blade."

Brohn grunted and gestured to the weapon rack with one hand, while keeping hold of the forge tongs with the other.

"Thanks." Julius grabbed the sword from the rack, opened the door, and returned to the store.

"Here you are, sir. One shortsword all fixed up. Smoothed out the nicks on the edge, polished the blade, and re-strapped the leather on the handle. Definitely should serve you well for at least a few years, unless you and your squad run into particularly big group of Grimm." That got a laugh out of the guard as he slid the sword back into its sheath.

"You've got a good eye for weapons, boy. That's a pretty valuable skill, you know? Maybe you should join us at the border guard someday. We'll need people like you." The guard offered.

"Thank you, sir. I'll think about it. Have a good day." Julius replied as the guard left the store, briefly letting the light from the midday sun stream in before the door closed again with a jingle. He stored the lien from the transaction into a small box under the counter, then looked around at the store around him, the one that he had grown up in.

 _Border guard, huh?_ He thought, taking a seat _. Sounds interesting, but I think I'd still do better here, in the forge and store. Not that I'd be allowed to go anyways._

The door to the forge behind him swung open, interrupting his thoughts, and a sweaty Donovan entered, followed by a slightly less sweaty Brohn, both of whom carried plates. Behind them was Elena Winchester, mother and the household's head chef extraordinaire, carrying three mugs of water.

"Ah, time for lunch already? Julius asked, although he himself had worked up an appetite managing the store while Donovan and Brohn completed orders in the forge.

"Of course Julius, but make sure these two don't get any. They don't seem to have done any work at all today." Elena winked, ignoring the exaggerated looks of shock and betrayal from the other two Winchesters. It quickly dissolved as all four of them shared a collective laugh.

"Alright, I'll head back into the house. I need a break from cooking for all three of you. If you need anything else, just come over and ask." With that, Elena took her leave. Before she left, however, she poked her head back in.

"And don't forget to eat the vegetables." Elena said with a smile that was sharper than anything the Winchester forges could produce. Quite strict about wasted food, she was.

Resting in the plates were roasted deer, simmered potatoes, local greens, and biscuits. After setting the dishes down and each receiving an empty plate and utensils, they quickly dug in to Elena Winchester's cooking. They ate in silence for a while, simply enjoying a hearty meal after half of a hard day's work.

"One of the border guards came in today, the one with the shortsword" Julius began around a mouthful of food, taking a swig of water and breaking the amicable quiet. "They're saying there've been more Grimm spottings."

"Grimm, eh?" responded Brohn, still chewing on meat. "If anything, that just means more business for us. Aside from the normal stock, maybe we'll get your weapons to sell."

"I don't know about that, Dad. The prices on those two are higher than what we usually sell. It might be at least a week before they'll sell." Said Donovan, dutifully working through the greens.

"Like I told you before, Don, it's fine." Brohn waved his hand in indifference. "Anyways, I've also heard some things from the tavern." At this, Julius and Donovan leaned forward a bit. It always seemed that the most interesting information came from the lips of the inebriated.

"He's a tax collector for the council. Fine fellow, despite what he does, really. However, I heard from him last night that there have been rumblings in the Valean government. More people and officials coming and going, deals being made under the table, big changes coming."

"You think that'll affect us?" asked Donovan, who had nearly finished the plate of vegetables, though without much enthusiasm.

"Not for a while, at least. And even if it does, it should be minimal. We're not completely isolated location-wise in this kingdom, but we're far enough that we're all but independent of them." Brohn briefly explained. The three contemplated the information, wondering what could possibly bring about changes to their way of life in the town.

"Anything else we should know?" interjected Julius, who wondered if there was any other news that was less dreary than rumors of an increasingly questionable government.

"That you need to get these empty plates back in." The smirk on his face betrayed his answer, but knowing Brohn, he wasn't likely to divulge anything else. "Don, I'll leave that to you. Then come back to the forge."

Taking that as the signal to return to work, the three went about their business. Julius wiping the crumbs off the counter, Donovan bringing the plates and utensils back to the house, and Brohn readying the tools for the next job at hand.

"Oh, Julius, by the way." Julius turned his head and saw Brohn with an armful of completed weapons and tools. "Get these organized." Brohn then returned to the forge.

"Yeah, got it." Julius placed the gear onto empty spots on the shelves and racks, making sure nothing was out of place.

* * *

After organizing and re-organizing for an hour, the small chimes on the front door jingled.

"Welcome to Winchester Metals and Arms, how can I- Mr. Sewald!" Julius exclaimed as he finished restocking the shelves. Mr. Sewald was an older, portly man, but his worn clothing and deep tan spoke of many years of experience working the fields. He shook the hand that Julius offered.

"It's been a while, Julius. How have you and your family been?" Sewald replied with a laugh, his belly jiggling slightly.

"You know how it is. Dad still drinks at the tavern, Mom is working on her knitting, and Don still hunts in the forest occasionally" Julius replied. "Would you like to meet them?"

"No, no, it's fine. Don't want to disturb them while they're working. I'll probably visit again within the week. And how about yourself?" Sewald asked. He was a close friend of the Winchesters, and was somewhat of an uncle to Julius and Donovan.

"Same old, same old. Still learning the tricks of the trade. Anyways, how can I help?"

"Ah, yes." Sewald said, scratching the stubble on his chin. "Looking for some new farm tools. A pitchfork and a hoe, if I recall correctly."

"I've got just what you're looking for." Julius led him to one of the racks that held longer farm equipment. From it Julius picked out the requested tools.

"Pretty good timing, too, Mr. Sewald. This batch was forged less than a week ago." Sewald

"I haven't used it yet, but I can already tell these will hold up quite well. It's been years since I've had to replace tools from here. If I remember, last time I bought these same tools, you were still a little boy, no taller than my stomach here. It was right after you began living with... the... Winchesters." Sewald's reminiscence quickly soured, hefting the tools and coughing awkardly.

"It really has been a while, hasn't it?" Julius responded quietly. Sewald hesitated.

"I'm sorry, Julius. I didn't mean to bring it u-" he began, but Julius interjected.

"It's fine, really. He died years ago. There's not much left of him to remember." And it was true. Even if he strained himself, the most he could recollect was some blond hair, a blurry face, and a deep, baritone laugh.

Sewald sighed. Despite what Julius said, he still felt somewhat guilty for bringing up the topic.

"Regardless, Julius. Your family has raised you to be a fine young man, although I do sometimes question Brohn's ways of expressing love."

That got a chuckle out of Julius, thinking back to the headlocks.

"I'll bring these to the counter. Feel free to browse around if you want," he offered, to which Sewald nodded.

"I'll do just that. It's always a wonder to see what you all can create." With that, he began walking around, browsing through the wares.

Julius returned to the counter with the two tools and set them down.

It had been over a decade since that day, when Julius learned of the misfortune that befell his father's squad by the border. He had been far too young to fully comprehend the sorrow of losing a loved one, but he remembered the important details. A large pack of Beowolves, led by an Alpha, had strayed too close to the border outskirts. Sensing prey, the Beowolves quickly gave chase to the unfortunate squad that was on patrol at the time. In an act of courage and valiance, Jacob Arc laid down his life to give his squad time to retreat through the surrounding forest back to the town. He did not last long, however, and only two of the original fifteen members of the squad were fortunate enough to escape death in the ensuing chase.

Not having a mother, due to complications in childbirth, and now missing a father, Julius was taken in by the Winchesters, who were close friends of the Arcs. They too had a son, Donovan, who was the same age as Julius, and he played a vital role in Julius' recovery and re-acclimation to a normal family life.

"Well would you look at that." Julius' thoughts were interrupted by Sewald, who was looking at the one of the shelves that held the weapons that Julius had crafted.

"Like what you see, Mr. Sewald?" Julius noting how he looked at the mace and sword with appreciation.

"Of course I do. When did Brohn have time to make these?"

"Actually, Mr. Sewald, I did." Julius corrected, joining Sewald again by the weapons.

"You did, now did you? By Monty, these look like works of art!" he exclaimed.

"It wasn't much, really." However, Julius' chest swelled slightly. Sewald chuckled at the response. He then made to pick up the sword, and grunted in surprise when he nearly dropped it.

"Knowing you, Julius, there's something else to this than just a sword. Isn't there?" Sewald said after recovering. "Mind showing me?"

"Of course not." Julius replied. Taking the offered weapon, he strapped the sheath to his forearm again and drew the sword. Then, once again taking what he assumed to be a combat stance, he expanded the sheath into its shield form. He held the form for a moment, then looked to Sewald, who he noticed had a wistful smile on his face.

"Mr. Sewald?"

He sighed, although the smile remained on his face.

"You standing there with the sword and shield… I don't know how else to put it, but you look just like your father." Sewald replied quietly.

Julius lowered his form, collapsed the shield back into its sheath form, and slid the sword back into it. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Did he really look like him?

"Anyways, I think I am done browsing, Julius," Sewald said, breaking the spell. "I'll take my leave before Mary accuses me of running off to the tavern."

"Of course. Right this way." Julius lead him back to the counter, when the tools were exchanged for the appropriate amount of lien.

"Thanks for coming over, Mr. Sewald." Julius smiled. "Can't wait for you to come visit the family."

"Likewise, Julius. Maybe I'll bring Mary along as well, and we can all have dinner" Sewald replied, hefting his newly-acquired tools on his shoulder as he exited the store. He waved farewell to Julius.

Julius waved back, the chimes jingling as the door closed once again.

* * *

 **A/N: Apologies for the delay. Things came up and decided to get in the way. With that being said, I will probably loosen the deadline, meaning that chapters may be updated once every 1-2 weeks as opposed to once a week. Hope for the best, expect the worst. Also still working on increasing the chapter lengths as I go. As always, reviews and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3** : To Halitus

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Nothing in his years of training had prepared him for this.

The plan had been to travel to Halitus through water, follow the western coastline of the island of Vytal, traverse the Cauda strait in between the island and the continent of Sanus proper, and finally dock at the northern coastal town of Pharus. From there, Connor and his company would march southwards for a day and complete their assigned journey.

However, as the _MMS_ _Vanguard_ made its way across the ocean to Vytal, with the afternoon sun setting over the horizon, Connor was currently facing one of the greatest tests of his life.

"Easy does it now, Connor. Deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out. Keep a rhythm going."

During his first years of enlistment, he had never needed to board a ship. He had never thought that something as trivial as seasickness could truly be so debilitating. And then another wave nudged the ship.

"Slow breaths. Come on, listen to me. Slow down yo-"

"Finnegan. I need you to shut up. Right now," Connor grimaced, nearly doubled over against the wooden railing at the rear of the ship. The churning water below him added a degree of vertigo that certainly did not improve his condition.

The whole vessel was clad in metal, sleek in design but surprisingly durable, with the helm tower nestled in the center. The ship was only a corvette, which made it one of Mantle's smallest types of dust-powered warships, but it was more than enough in terms of size for the ship's crew, Connor's company, and all the necessary equipment and gear. Connor was not well versed with ship armaments, but even in his nausea-induced state he could identify rows upon rows of what looked like harpoon guns with coils of metallic wire their ends along both sides of the ship, somewhat akin to a porcupine.

Finnegan, who stood next to him, chose to remain silent. A silence that he broke all too soon.

"Pretty sure Sergeant Byrnes warned us about this," he muttered off-hand. Not wanting to stew in his own discomfort, Connor chose to respond.

"And I'm pretty sure Sergeant Byrnes said that we weren't going to be leaving this early." The deployment had originally been set one week after Connor's meeting with Byrnes, but due to unexplained reasons they had set out after only three days. The journey was to be another three, and they were somewhere on their second. Connor was not a religious person by any means, but he silently prayed to whatever god there may be to expedite this hellish part of the trip.

"Nothing we can do about it. Also, the military won't let us travel by air. Any of the developing airships that aren't being used by the upper ranks to get around are all used for kingdom border patrols and defense against the Grimm." Finnegan ran a hand through his blonde hair against the wind.

"That sounds like an incredible waste of resources." If the airships could protect the kingdom against Grimm, then what purpose did the ground and sea forces serve?

"It does, but it's been working so far. Think about it, it's pretty easy to see black against white snow from the sky. Afterwards, it's just sending us grunts in to do the clean-up while they sweep another region." Finnegan explained.

Connor made to reply, but all he could manage was a groan as another wave of nausea assaulted him.

"Looks like greenhorn here can't handle himself, can he?" laughed one of the ship's officers, who strode over to them. The man sported an impressive handlebar mustache that almost seemed to have a life of its own. He looked at Connor with amusement, and rested against the railing along with them.

"It's his first time on a ship, sir." Finnegan responded for the still-groaning Connor.

"Quite alright. The waves are occasionally choppy around here where the depths are the deepest between Mantle and Vytal. That being said, it should only get better from here."

"Deepest? Does that mean there's more Grimm down there?" Aquatic Grimm were not commonly spotted, but that did not mean that they turned a blind eye when ships dared the waters. Furthermore, with such an abundance of area to live in, they were generally much larger than their air-breathing counterparts. So much for a light conversation.

"Right to the point, eh? Anyways, you are correct. And it's for that reason that we had to deploy four days in advance. There have been recent warnings of big Grimm sightings in the water, so the decision was made to take this voyage before the warnings got any more serious. Any time further and we probably would have lost our clearance to head out." The officer responded, his previous jovial expression now somewhat changed to a more serious one.

"And do you think there will be Grimm be after us?" Finnegan had killed a Grimm or two before, but he had never seen one that was larger than a few men.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Even though this is a smaller ship, we should be able to handle anything that comes swimming around." The officer seemed quite sure of his statement, which brought some relief to Connor and Finnegan.

"I assume that's what the harpoons are for?" Each harpoon was easily as long as a man was tall, and the rear-facing barbs made Finnegan shudder to think of having to pull one out. The officer nodded in response.

"But why not dust cannons? Wouldn't the continuous fire be more reliable?" It was quite odd indeed. If the harpoons missed, valuable time would be wasted reeling them back in through the wires. Furthermore, the mental image of some Grimm taking a full broadside barrage from cannon fire was strangely satisfying to Finnegan.

"At a glance, yes. If you look at the other ships in the fleet, most of them have the cannons you're talking about. However, this is a corvette, so its size makes it hard to find space for enough solid ammunition to support sustained fire. That and the fact that it is our duty to chase down neutralize whatever Grimm comes our way, if only to make the waters safer for others. With these harpoons, we can." That sounded reasonable enough, but it also led to another question.

"But would these harpoons actually be capable of killing larger Grimm, though? I don't assume you'll try to capture them before killing them." Against such size, the harpoons would probably be no more than an annoyance. That elicited a smirk from the officer.

"Don't you worry about that. This ship's got some surprises up its sleeve." With that, the officer straightened from the railing and began heading towards the front of the ship.

"Anyways, good luck with your friend there. If you need anything, just ask around. The crew will be more than willing you assist you."

Finnegan cast another glance at the retreating form of the officer, before looking back down to Connor, who was finally taking deep, slow, and methodical breaths. Whether from his advice or just plain exhaustion, Finnegan would probably never know.

"Let's get you to the infirmary, see if the doctors can get something for you. After that, bed rest for you."

Too drained to protest, Connor nodded his head in assent.

With Connor's arm over his shoulder, Finnegan began the task of half-dragging him back to the ship's interior. Looking after the seasick fool was no simple task, and as the sun finally submerged beneath the sea, Finnegan too thought that an early night's rest would help him rest and recharge.

* * *

At least, until the alarms began ringing.

Both Finnegan and Connor shot up from their bunks in the hold and groggily attempted to get dressed. However, that proved to be somewhat difficult, as the ship rocked to and fro with an intensity that they had not yet had to face during the voyage. However, muscle memory allowed them to quickly don their basic grey combat uniforms, and the two quickly followed the current of people in the corridors, most of whom seemed to be heading to the upper deck and the gun deck just below it, where the harpoons were situated. The two made their way to the upper deck, where they were immediately buffeted by strong winds. The sky above them was pitch black, and the only source of lights were from the towers upon the helm tower and the mounted lights spaced evenly between the harpoon firing mechanisms across the entire length of the ship.

They could see both shipmen and company members getting the harpoons ready, and the pair tried to find someone to help. They spotted the mustachioed officer from their earlier conversation, who was single-handedly preparing his harpoon station on the starboard side. As they made their way over, water from the turbulent waves crashed against the ship, continually spraying them with mist.

"What's going on!? Where's the enemy!?" Connor yelled above the wind and crashing waves. He was still pale, but the adrenaline and panic coursing through his body was antidote enough for the time being for his seasickness.

"Speak of the Grimm and they shall appear!" The officer shouted in response "Find something to hold onto! Don't want you fellas to find yourself overboard with the Grimm down there in this freak storm!"

"Grimm? What kind?" Finnegan shouted, wind-whipped hair flying across his face.

Before the officer could answer, the ship veered sharply to the starboard side, and all three had to brace themselves.

Against the light from tower, where the ship was previously was now a flash of yellow-white bone, a thin trail of crimson, followed by a stream of shiny black scales. A second later, all they could see were the dark churning waters. Had the ship not turned, their broadside would have been caved in by whatever tried to ram them.

"Damn. We've got a Leviathan on us!" someone yelled above the wind. However, the officer next to the two shouted back.

"Keep a sharp eye on it. When it gets close, stick it with the harpoons!"

Although people readied themselves, Connor and Finnegan held on in disbelief. Sure, the harpoons were as long as a man was tall, but against this so-called Leviathan? The damned thing was almost as long as the ship.

Everyone on the deck and gun deck below waited in tense silence amidst the chaos, waiting for the beast to strike again. Connor could barely see anything, and it seemed that every cresting wave could hide a Leviathan in it. From the brief glance that Connor got, one that was far too close for comfort, it was a thing of nightmares. Were it not for the fact that it was a Grimm, he probably would have considered it to be an abnormally large fish, not that it made it any less frightening. A gaping maw of curved teeth, easily matching the harpoons. A bony plate covering its head, yellow-white from age, and angry glowing red eyes. Its body was covered in armored scales, with large, spiky fins along its body that gave it enhanced maneuverability in the sea,

A glint caught his attention. A large dorsal fin, one with spines and webbing, crested the surface of the water and began picking up speed towards them, this time from port side. Luckily, whoever was manning the helm, whether it be the captain or the helmsman, also noticed and veered the ship once again.

"FIRE!"

As the command was given, a rain of harpoons from that side of the ship flew towards the breaching Leviathan. The few harpoons that missed or were deflected by the scales fell into the water. On the other hand, the harpoons that hit their mark were quickly dragged away from the ship as the Leviathan flew through empty air again. The coils of wire attached to the harpoons were squealing as the Leviathan pulled itself and the harpoons away for another charge.

At this point, a loud electrical humming was heard across the ship. Too concerned with the impending third breach, no one questioned it. However, heads began to turn as a current of static strengthened in the air, and their teeth began chattering from the buildup.

"Stand clear of the harpoon emplacements!"

Everyone watched in awe as they witnessed what was possibly the largest electric discharge of their lives. Above the wind and waves, they heard something between a massive explosion and countless deep, electrical pops and snaps as the harpoons and wires channeled its energy into the water. Thin, jagged beams of pure white energy blossomed outwards, illuminating the water below with an ethereal glow, leading all the way to where the Leviathan was. Connor was now quite glad that the ship's railings were wooden as the water went dark.

A cheer went up as the wire went slack, signaling that the Grimm had stopped. Whether it was stunned or dead, both outcomes were good for them. However, it was short-lived, as the wires suddenly jerked again. Before anyone could react, the coils ran out of wiring, and many of the harpoon gun placements were ripped off of the port side of the ship. Beams and columns dropped into the water, leaving many small gaping holes on the upper side of the ship.

"It's getting away!"

The ship, in response, began heading in the direction of the Leviathan. As the ship followed it, the men on board noticed an oily black substance, darker than the water it floated on, yet gleaming and shining in the lights.

"Are you sure chasing it is the best idea?" Connor asked. They had scored a victory, no doubt, forcing the Leviathan to flee. However, he thought that going after what was essentially a cornered animal was pushing luck a bit too far. Who knew what an enraged Leviathan was capable of?

"It's something that needs to be done. Were it a cargo or civilian ship, they wouldn't have stood a chance against the Leviathan. Like I said, if this is what the warnings were about, then we, as the military, must put an end to the danger," responded the officer. His mustache was disheveled and unkempt, but his eyes gleamed with conviction.

"Besides, it was fleeing southwards, which is essentially the same direction we were traveling in before it attacked." Finnegan interjected.

"Anyways, what just happened?" Never before had Connor seen or heard anything like that in his life, and it filled him with wonder. Were it not for the fact that such power had come from the ship, he would have thought it was some sort of divine, otherworldly intervention. To be able to harness such power… Connor felt himself strangely humbled. The question brought a deep smile to the officer's face.

"That, soldier, was the power of Lightning dust," he stated simply.

"Lightning dust? But I thought you said it was hard finding space for-"

"Powder." That silenced Finnegan for a moment.

"Oh." That made sense, now that he thought about it. It was much easier to store compared to solid ammunition.

"That being said, however, the powder is consumed at a significant rate. That discharge there probably cost us over half of our stock. Not to mention that we are also missing an entire side of harpoons." The officer concluded.

They continued sailing for what felt like hours, following the trail of black ichor through the water. The storm had passed, and the water became relatively still again. Eventually, the first light of day approached, and the horizon glowed a deep orange, heralding the arrival of the morning sun. This time it was Connor who broke the mutual silence, if only to stave off his returning seasickness.

"Do you think it's still alive? I don't see how it can survive after bleeding out this much." He was hesitant to see what they would find. If that spectacle hadn't somehow killed the Leviathan…

"We don't know yet. But if is, we're going to finish it."

A cry interrupted their thoughts shortly afterwards. Off in the distance, there was a mass of black floating near the surface of the water. As the ship drew closer, the wires from the ripped harpoons were dragged forward as they wrapped around the ship. The heavy smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.

The Leviathan was remained still in the water, floating on its side. It made no attempts to move as the ship sailed next to it. It was here that everyone on board could see the extent of the damage dealt to it. Many of the harpoons were no longer deeply embedded past the scales, and were loosely hanging on. Even as they watched, harpoons continued to sink after slipping off of the Leviathan. As for the points of impact, circular chunks of flesh had been torn out all across the side of the body, which was still leaking the black liquid. It mixed with the equally black mist that dissipated from the body whenever Grimm died. Its visage was a fearsome one, its teeth more than enough to kill men and sink ships, but the unnatural crimson glow from its eyes had dulled into a dark, lifeless shade of red.

"Looks quite dead, alright," commented the officer.

"But what exactly happened? How did the dust do this?" Finnegan with his hand to the dissipating corpse. It looked like most of the circular wounds were caused by multiple miniature explosions.

"From what I know of these weapons, the Lightning dust channeled through the harpoon heads and paralyzed it. That's when the wires went slack. But I'm surprised it recovered so quickly. As for what killed it though, I've been told that the charged heads create super-heated pockets of air from within the body. Afterwards, after expanding enough, it pops. That was probably the sound you heard when the harpoons discharged. So it died from continuous hemorrhage, and the little explosions loosened the harpoons as it fled," he explained.

They could see it in their heads. Multiple internal bodily explosions as muscles and organs liquefied into pulp and the scales warped and bent from within. It wasn't a pretty sight, but they knew it was one fitting for a Grimm such as this one.

"So what now?" Connor asked.

"We're close to the end of the trip. After you and your company all packed up and headed to Halitus, we'll make repairs and, granted there are no other Grimm, return to Mantle." The officer responded.

* * *

After everyone had finished making final equipment inspections, the company headed out from the port town of Pharus under the late morning sun. If they had a decent pace, the company expected to reach Halitus by the end of the day, where they could rest after three days of traveling. Not that Connor minded trekking on foot. The hard, solid ground was greatly welcomed after disembarking the ship. He shifted the large pack on his back, and continued walking in silence along the rest of the company.

That was until Finnegan appeared next to him.

"Lien for your thoughts?"

Connor sighed. He had hoped for some quiet after the chaos with the Leviathan, but it seemed that Finnegan came to deny him that.

"Nothing much, really. Just wondering what we'll be doing at Halitus." The entire journey had been a strange one. First an early departure, then a monster Grimm, and now the fact that they were being briefed after the journey rather than before? Connor wanted to know why that was so, but he was too tired to think about it any further.

"Who knows? Maybe we've been sent as ambassadors or something." Finnegan offered.

"Ambassadors? With our equipment and gear? I doubt it." Connor quickly shot the idea down. "Most of the extra stuff consists of combat equipment. Guns, melee weapons, armor. Things like that. If anything, we're more ready to fight than we are doing whatever ambassadors do."

Finnegan pondered the new idea.

"Makes sense," he replied.

"Of course it does. Now shut up and keep walking."

* * *

 **MMS- Mantle Military Ship**

 **Port- Left side of the ship facing forwards**

 **Starboard- Right side of the ship facing forwards**

 **Leviathan Grimm was inspired by Tiger Fish. Shit's freaky.**

 **A/N: Another week, another chapter. This is also the first chapter with "action" in it, so I'm not too sure how well I did in terms of weight and pacing. Let me know (*wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*). Anyways, I find myself surprised once again at the fact that I've somehow managed to meet the weekly deadline I set for myself. Still though, updates may or may not vary between 1-2 weeks. However, it's a very slow process when it comes to expanding the length of the chapters. Worry not, I am still working on that. The goal is to get 5,000+ words in a chapter some time in the future, both for my writing improvement and your reading enjoyment. That being said, thanks again for reading this work of mine.**

 **As always, reviews and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4** : Conscription

* * *

It had almost been a week now since Mr. Sewald's previous visit to the store, but he and his wife were warmly welcomed by the Winchesters when they came over again for dinner. Said dinner with the Sewalds was quite the enjoyable affair. Brohn and Mr. Sewald had known each other long before Julius and Donovan were born, and the two were almost like brothers in that regard. Although Mary and Elena had known each other for a lesser time, that did not stop them from sharing gossip, recipes, advice, and other things that only women were privy to. Things that men had no business intruding upon.

That being said, however, the two women gladly pulled the men into their conversation. Well, specifically conversations about the men themselves.

"Like I said, Elena. Look at him!" Mary exclaimed, pointing at Julius. "Look how lean he is! Nothing like Donovan at all. He needs more muscle!"

Julius remained silent, wondering why he of all people had to be chosen as the current topic of discussion for the two. He knew that Mary meant well, but he still sometimes found himself caught off-guard by her frankness. The other three men continued their conversation at the dinner table, but their barely-suppressed smirks easily indicated that they were taking great enjoyment from Julius' torment.

"Nonsense, Mary. If anything, Donnie needs some more of Julius' calmer temperament. They're practically men now, but I have my bets on Julius catching a lady first!" Elena replied with a smile, although there was a little competitive spark in her eyes.

More conversation between Brohn and Mr. Sewald, but now with wider smiles as a not-so-smiling Donovan joined Julius under the center of attention. Did the two women have to be so forward about them? They knew it was probably just jest, but that made it no less embarrassing.

"Is that so, Elena? I'll have you know that when I met my honey Earl, he was in the prime of his life. A boisterous young man, I tell you, always going about puffing his chest and flexing his arms for me. I can't remember how many times he made a fool of himself trying to woo me, but I certainly remember those muscles." Mary was now gesturing to her arms, pantomiming what seemed to be the young, muscled bachelor named Earl Sewald, who went silent.

"Mary, Mary. It's the unexpected things men do that will sway the heart of a woman. Before Brohn took over the family business and married me, he would bring bouquets and serenade me. Imagine my surprise as a maiden when the son of a blacksmith, all big and burly and unkempt, went around looking for flowers and singing me folk songs of old. I certainly did not expect that, but look at where we are now." Elena countered with ease, and Brohn also fell silent. However, that did not seem to deter Mary. If anything, she seemed more than prepared to continue the argument. However, before she could begin…

"Julius, Donovan. How would you like to join us at the tavern?" A somewhat flustered Brohn abruptly offered while standing up. Mr. Sewald seemed visibly relieved at the notion, and stood up as well. They both would have rather done anything other than let their wives use them as measuring sticks of a man's worth.

"Sure." Donovan and Julius quickly rose as well, not wanting Elena and Mary to turn the conversation back to them, which seemed to be an inevitability.

As they headed out the door, Elena and Mary moved to the living room to continue their conversation. As the front door closed, the four men heard peals of laughter. Whether it was them that was being laughed at or something else, they preferred not to know. Ignorance was indeed bliss.

After a short stroll in the cool autumn air under a sky of stars, the four found themselves at _The Dusty Tankard_. The hanging sign above the door was well-worn from years of weather, but nonetheless it was a familiar sight to many of the townspeople. The four made their way inside.

The tavern itself was a place where words and drink flowed freely, and rumors as well as food were consumed heartily. Intervals of glow dust along the walls gave the tavern a warm and welcoming atmosphere, and a large portion of the tables were occupied at this hour. The four found seats near one of the walls, and an attendant promptly came to take their orders.

"Four of the maple brews to start, please." Mr. Sewald told the attendant, and she promptly went to go fetch their drinks. Julius and Donovan were just old enough to drink, but such occurrences were few and far in between for the two. Brohn would not have them intoxicated or hungover when they worked, as the quality of their crafts would suffer as a result. And if the quality of the goods were not the best, they would not be able to sell it for its highest price.

But it seemed that, given the fact that the two wives had easily taken command of the Winchester residence, Brohn was willing to cut the pair some slack tonight. The attendant returned and placed four tankards of the chilled drink in front of them. Donovan was the first to take a swig, and was immediately rewarded with the hints of sweet, woody maple in the beverage.

"You know, Dad, I think Mr. Sewald and Mrs. Sewald should come over for dinner more often. I really don't mind coming here," he offered, swirling the drink in the tankard and watching the amber liquid do the same.

"You know, Donovan, I could also choose to never take you here regardless of who visits." Brohn responded with a sip of his own, much to the amusement of Julius and Mr. Sewald. Donovan entertained the thought of continuing the argument, but the ale in his hand held him back. _Everything in moderation_ , it seemed to tell him

"Well, in that case-" he began.

"And you could keep you mother and Mrs. Sewald company as well." Anything that Donovan was about to say remain unsaid as he blanched. He held the tankard a little closer to him, as it was the only thing that would support him now.

After Julius and Mr. Sewald's laughter subsided, the four began their conversation anew, free from the tyranny that was Elena's and Mary's many, many questionable stories. Before they knew it, they had blended in with the warmth of the tavern, conversing and laughing and jesting and drinking. However, after a few hours of this, Mr. Sewald decided to bring up something that was of a more serious tone.

"Anyways, as we were about to discuss earlier, Brohn. I don't think these changes in the council are normal. They're too drastic, and I doubt this due to a sudden change in the people's opinion." Sewald began, bringing Julius and Donovan into the conversation they were having earlier prior to Elena and Mary driving them out.

"You think maybe there's another outside for influencing it? Something like bribery or blackmail?" Donovan ventured, to which Brohn shook his head.

"It's could be a possibility, but I truly doubt something like that could happen." Which was true, to some extent. The members of the Valean council formed something very similar to a republic, where power was held by the people through the elected members. Furthermore, since its inception at the founding of the kingdom, the council had always successfully maintained an overall sense of peace and security. Which was why it was difficult for them to fathom any outside force that had enough power to sway it. Brohn drank some more before continuing.

"If anything, I think you're worrying about it too much, Earl. There's probably a natural reason as to why these changes are occurring. And besides, it's not like any changes in policy or law will greatly affect us. That's something the people closer to the capital have to worry about." Brohn assuaged, but Mr. Sewald seemed keen on pressing the matter.

"But we don't know that, Brohn. Forgive me for playing Grimm's advocate, but the council has always been the representative of the people, no matter how far away they are. And if they are to represent all of the people, then this degree of change should not be possible. Whoever or whatever responsible would have to possess an immense amount of money, at least a few decades worth of time, or both. I've never found myself questioning the integrity of the Valean council, but I worry that may not be the case now," Mr. Sewald argued, to which Brohn responded with a sigh.

"Let us assume that, for one moment, what you are saying is true. What are we going to do about it? It's not like Remnant will flip over. I still have to complete orders at the forge, and you still have to tend to your fields," Brohn dismissed with a wave of his hand. Julius remained silent through this exchange, half enjoying the ale and half listening to the two. However, before he could express his thoughts…

"That may not be so for long, Winchester," a new voice uttered. The four turned to the source of the voice next to their table. He was wearing a robe-like coat, blue with straight shoulders. He was bald, but his complexion resembled that of a hawk, sharp and angular, with a few lines and wrinkles from age and work.

"And who might you be, sir?" Mr. Sewald asked, with the barest hints of caution seeping through the question towards this stranger.

"That would be Verucio Thilden, the tax collector I met a week ago, Earl," Brohn answered, and he pulled a chair over for Verucio to join them.

"Would you care for some maple ale? It's in season." Brohn gestured to the attendant and ordered another. She returned promptly with an additional tankard of ale. Verucio took a sip, and smacked his lips in appreciation.

"Thank you. As I was saying, your lives may not be so normal soon." Noting the slightly curious looks from the others, he continued.

"There have been more changes since I arrived here last week. As we speak, a detachment from Mantle's Seventh Infantry Division should have arrived in the town of Halitus, some distance further north from here."

Julius, at this moment, chose to speak.

"And why is that? They should have no authority on something like this." Although the kingdoms strove to maintain good relations with one another, they never actively interfered with each other's affairs. Which was why this seemed like a very blatant breach of mutual trust.

"Keen one, aren't you? Tell me, young man, how are the state of the Grimm at the moment in Vale?" Verucio asked. Julius wondered what that had to do with the newly-arrived company, but then remembered the conversation he had with the border guard.

"A border guard told me that there were rumors of increased Grimm activity, but he also told me that there was nothing to be worried about," Julius responded. Verucio's expression did not change, but he leaned forward slightly, as if to prevent people from overhearing. His voice also quieted as well.

"I'll tell you this. Those rumors? They're much more real than you think, and it's not only your town. Halitus and other towns in the kingdom are also facing the same situation, so I wouldn't say that you have nothing to worry about." As he said this, Mr. Sewald and Donovan shared glances with one another as they shifted uneasily in their seats. Brohn did not have as notable of a reaction, but a slight tightening of his grip on the tankard and hardening of his eyes was indicated enough.

"If that's the case, why is the council not using the Valean army?" It wasn't that Vale lacked a military force, but for a large part of its history, it was never something that was on the forefront of the people's minds.

"Vale's military is only a shadow of Mantle's, lacking the cohesion and discipline compared to Mantle's soldiers. Not only that, but they're widely spread out across the kingdom, so it's logistically more difficult to organize and reallocate them for proper assistance." Verucio countered. Julius thought about it, taking a sip of the ever-disappearing ale.

"But if it was something this serious in the kingdom, why isn't the council acting on it? And it still doesn't explain why Mantle has sent forces over."

"But they are. And here I thought for a moment you were actually smart," Verucio said with a raised eyebrow. Julius, not falling for the provocation, maintained eye contact and took another sip. Eventually, Verucio continued.

"It was the Valean council that requested assistance from Mantle. Now, I doubt it's simply just extra soldiers for patrols and guard duty. There's something else going on behind our backs, but I'm not sure what at this point."

"And I assume this has something to do with the recent changes in the council as well?" Mr. Sewald entered the conversation. It seemed now that his theory held some water after all.

"No one knows for certain, but what else do you think it could be? If anything, I'd say that the changes were probably influenced by Mantle itself," Verucio answered. Brohn scowled, and although Mr. Sewald seemed to be correct about an outside influence, he was no more pleased than Brohn.

"The people of Vale won't stand for this. Since when have we ever let another kingdom meddle in our affairs? Who do they think we are?" Mr. Sewald scoffed, his complexion darkening under the implication that another kingdom was doing as they pleased. It wasn't just a matter Valean pride, but also of the future and independence of the kingdom as a whole.

"And they won't. However, the people don't know about the specific details of what's actually happening, so they'll grumble and drag their feet. But as long they believe it's for the greater good of the kingdom, and not the interference of another, they'll eventually accept it." Verucio continued.

"It's not a pretty picture. But this is what we are dealing with. You think I enjoy telling the townspeople that their taxes are being raised? I welcome these changes no more than any of you do."

"Then why not tell the people about it?" Donovan offered again. Verucio looked as if he was about to berate the young man, but instead he took another swig.

"Don't forget that the Grimm are still out there. Even if we were to tell the people, I still don't think much could come it. Remember, as much as the people would want to display anger to the council, they still fear the Grimm much, much more. So in the end, it will only work against us all in the long run, especially if you include the recent rumors. Also, as much as I like to joke about the council and the military, I'm sure that, without a doubt, they definitely have the resources and means to quell any dissenting ideas, should they choose to do so," He concluded, finishing the ale and setting the tankard down.

"Also, speaking of the military, I've also learned something else that will be news to you." Verucio began again, catching Brohn before he could respond, and his voice dropped nearly to a whisper.

"Within the next few days, officials from the Valean army will be arriving in many of the outskirt towns of the kingdom, looking for men within the ages of seventeen to twenty-five. They're enforcing a recent decree made by the council requiring the conscription of additional men into the active Valean army, at a minimum of at least a year." Verucio stopped briefly, hesitant to continue.

"This town will most likely be one of them."

At this, Brohn went deathly still, color draining from his face. Julius and Donovan shared a concerned look, and Mr. Sewald seemed unsettled as well.

"I am sorry, Brohn. I too hoped that things wouldn't turn out like this," He continued quietly. Brohn shot up from his seat, placing lien on the table for the ale.

"Julius, Donovan. We're going home," He commanded sternly. The other three rose as well, concerned by Brohn's sudden shift in temperament, while Verucio remain seated. For Brohn, the tavern was no longer warm and welcoming. They walked through the front door and headed home. Verucio remained in his seat for a little while longer before also rising. Patting down his robes, he decided that it would be best to retire for the night.

"It seems the times are changing, regardless of our wishes."

After returning home, Mr. Sewald and Mrs. Sewald promptly excused themselves. Since it was already close to midnight, Elena Winchester could not do much to keep them any longer. Donovan and Julius returned to their bedrooms, with Brohn and Elena doing the same. There was still work to be done the following day.

Lying on his bed, Julius thought about what he had learned just before they left the tavern. What Verucio told them at the tavern had certainly given him a lot to think about, notably the part about the conscription. Strangely, he didn't feel much towards the fact that he might be conscripted into the Valean army. If anything, the prospect of leaving home and going somewhere else seemed to intrigue him, if only slightly. Any further thought was interrupted as he yawned. Before he prepared for sleep, however, he decided to get some water to drink. He quietly exited his room and began to silently make his way through the house.

As he passed Brohn and Elena's bedroom, he heard quiet conversation from within. He stopped and lightly pressed his ear against the door.

"-don't know what to do. There's nothing that I know of that will exempt Julius and Donovan from being conscripted," Brohn muttered resentfully.

"Is it really as bad as you think it is thought, Brohn? If there is nothing we can do about it, then I have to try and hope that they will be safe within the Valean army." Elena tried to comfort, yet from her wavering voice, it seemed to Julius that she too was disheartened at the prospect of them leaving.

"I won't do that, Elena. They're still too young to-"

"They are men now, Brohn. We can't look after them forever. And besides, wasn't Jacob already in the border patrol by this time in his life?" Julius held back a sharp intake of breath at the mention of his father, waiting for the conversation to continue.

"That's what I'm worried about." Brohn sighed. "I don't want what happened Jacob to befall Julius or Donovan, no matter how small the possibility is. This is the Grimm are talking about, where so many things can go wrong."

Julius heard rustling from within, where Elena wrapped her arms around Brohn and rested the side of her head against his chest.

"We have to hope, Brohn. That's all we can do now." Elena whispered, as Julius heard her sniffling.

He slowly withdrew from where he was eavesdropping. He no longer felt the need for water, and silently returned to his room.

Business was slow for the day so far, so Julius spent most of his time at the counter thinking of new designs that he could create, as well as the conversation he had overheard from two nights before. A light knock on the door behind him drew him from his thoughts as a sweaty Donovan let himself in.

"Hey." He then took a seat he took a seat next to Julius at the counter.

"Nothing much. What's up?"

"Same as you. Nothing much. Dad's oil-quenching some newly forged parts, so I'm on break at the moment." They shared an amicable silence for a moment, but Donovan had something on his mind that he wanted to talk about.

"So, Julius. About the conscription… Uh, how are you feeling about it?"

Julius would be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about it at all either. If anything, he thought about it as much as the inventions and the conversation.

"Well, it's going to happen in the next few days, right?" Donovan nodded. "I can tell you that I'm not worried about it for sure. Strangely enough, it actually sounds interesting, being able to travel away from home, even if it's not really our choice."

"You're actually considering it? But why? If anything, I thought you'd want to stay. It's not like you've ever expressed interest in anything other than tinkering about in the forge." To which Julius shot him an annoyed glare.

"Inventing, Donovan. Please. And besides, you like the mace," He shot back. Donovan sighed and shook his head.

"That's not the point here. We're going to be soldiers, Julius. Whatever it is we'll be doing, we're putting our lives on the line. I don't think that's something we can just go along with so easily." Despite Donovan's reasoning and what Julius had learned about his father, Julius couldn't bring himself to worry about it like Donovan was. Why was it that he did not feel apprehension towards the upcoming and inevitable conscription? He would probably have to fight and risk his life against the Grimm, no doubt, and yet somewhere deep inside him, the prospect only seemed to excite him.

"I still think there's nothing to be worried about here. We'll be alongside many other soldiers. It's not like it'll just be us two out there," He casually responded, not noting the concerned expression on Donovan's face. Donovan wanted to try to further argue some sense into him, but it seemed as if Julius would be unmovable on the matter. He was proven right as Julius attempted to shift the conversation away.

"Also, speaking of the mace, that and the sword still haven't sold since last week."

"You think it might be better to just lower the price on them?" Donovan offered with a sigh, despite not wanting the topic to change so suddenly.

"We'll see. I can ask him about him sometime. However, like he said, they're quality works. It's going to take the right customer at the right time to get those beauties sold. And with the conscription coming up, I'm sure someone will come looking for it. Who knows, maybe instead of selling the weapons, we could bring them with us and use them." Donovan took this and tried again to bring back the topic he wanted to talk about.

"Julius, are you sure you don't want to talk about this more? If anything, we can easily come up with reasons for why we can't go."

"I don't think so. Pretty sure evading conscription is illegal or something like that."

Anything that Donovan was about to respond with was cut short as the door behind them swung open.

"Donovan. Time to get back to work." Brohn ordered tersely. Donovan glanced at Julius again, concern on his face, before he returned.

Julius sighed. However, he plastered a smile onto his face when the bells at the front door jingled. Not that the interruption made him feel any better, but anything that took his mind off of the many jumbled thoughts swirling within was welcome.

Thanks to years of experience manning the counter, Julius responded instinctively.

"Welcome to Winchester Metals and Arms. How can I help you?"

"What did you say?" Brohn asked. Julius looked surprised at the response, and Donovan looked worried.

Dinner had been a subdued affair, as it had been for the two previous nights. Elena and Brohn were quiet, not offering much in terms of conversation. However, they tried their best to not let it show. However, that quiet was broken when Julius decided to take Donovan's suggestion about asking Brohn about the weapons.

"It was just a suggestion. If you really want, we'll just wait for the weapons to sell." That answer only seemed to worsen the situation.

"Not that. It sounded to me like you're actually interested in the conscription." Brohn reiterated.

"I don't see what the problem is. It's inevitable anyways, so why not just look forward to it?"

"This is a serious matter, Julius. Get your head out of the clouds. You're not fit to be a soldier. You should be here, with us, making a good living for ourselves!" He said with slight irritation, to which Julius responded with equal amounts of irritation.

"You're blowing this out of proportion." However, this caused Brohn to shoot up from his seat.

"And you're not taking this seriously enough. Do you not understand what the Grimm are capable of?" he retorted, face slowly turning red as he tried to contain his anger.

"I do. They killed Jacob Arc, my father."

Brohn paled and froze. The ensuing silence at the table was deafening. Elena looked frightened, and Donovan looked torn, not knowing how to get in between them.

There was no need, however, as he turned to leave, but not before turning his head to look sideways at Julius. And with that, he shut the dining room door on them.

"Brohn!" Elena shouted, rushing after him. Donovan chose to stay with Julius, who stood still at the now deserted dinner table.

Julius released a heavy sigh. He partially understood where Brohn was coming from as a father, worrying so much. However, he was tired of being coddled in the sense that Brohn always chose to see him as a child rather than a man. True, he did not know what he was getting himself into, but it wasn't like he was going to just recklessly throw his life away.

The day was an overcast one as Julius and Donovan brought their bags to the front door of the house. There was a horse-drawn wagon waiting there as well, with some people already in it. Before they departed, however, they had one last thing to do.

Brohn and Elena were also by the door. Brohn's face was stony and Elena was trying her hardest to not burst into tears. Julius had not made up with Brohn since the argument in the dining room. The few days in between had been them mostly avoiding contact with each other. He wanted to apologize, but Brohn always seemed to be busy or moving around, as if not wanting to talk to him. Now that he was here, however, Julius felt that it would be best to close the matter before leaving.

He walked over to them, attempting to figure out how he could repair the damage between them, and Donovan followed by his side. Brohn's expression did not change as the two stood in front of them.

"Donovan."

"Yes?" He stood a little straighter.

"Don't do anything reckless out there. Listen to your officers, and make sure you write home." He nodded in response. Julius wondered if Brohn had anything to say to him. However, as the silence stretched, it seemed that it wouldn't happened. Julius sighed and decided to move his bags over to the-

"Julius." He stopped and turned to face Brohn fully.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry for belittling you. I just want the best for both of you. You're a man now. So show me that you have what it takes to be a proper one." He then proceeded to surprise them by pulling them both into a sudden bear hug.

"Stay safe, both of you. Watch each other's backs, and make sure you come home. Got it?" The two could only nod as they felt their airways being constricted. After he let go, Brohn brought over to them a long case.

"I guess it would be best for you to take these as opposed to letting them gather dust on the shelves. I wouldn't trust you to use anything else. And if anyone asks you where these came from, tell them that it came from Winchester Metals and Arms."

Taking a peek inside, Julius and Donovan saw that the sword and the mace were inside. However, before they could respond, the wagon driver interrupted and told them to hurry up. Without further ado, the two loaded their bags and the case onto the wagon and hopped in.

They waved from the opening at the back of the wagon to the ever shrinking Brohn and Elena. Brohn's eyes were watery, and Elena was now openly crying as she waved back. The wagon took a turn at the end of the street, and they promptly disappeared along with the house.

Julius leaned back into his seat, with Donovan doing likewise. Both of them wondered how the next year would turn out for them.

* * *

 **A/N: Many, many apologies for the delay on the chapter. Thanksgiving break was anything but, as I found myself mired in essays, projects, and homework. After coming back from break, I've been in full-study mode for my upcoming college finals. No matter how hard I try, it seems that Calculus and I will never agree with one another, so the outlook is bleak (I will curse integrals until the day I die). Fortunately, by the time this chapter is up, I will be done with said finals. Then it will be a full, uninterrupted month of weekly updates on these chapters for you all.**

 **Furthermore, this was one of the more difficult parts of the story for me to develop so far, so solidifying and smoothing out the development was quite rocky. I fear that, even with the extra time I spent on this chapter, it is still somewhat poorly developed. Feel free to ask for any clarification.**

 **For those of you who have read this before, I also apologize for a few mistakes that I made in the previous chapter. You probably noticed that the Grimm that the** _ **MMS Vanguard**_ **faced was named "Goliath". This was an error, as it slipped my sleep-deprived mind at the time that there was already a type of (elephant) Grimm with the same name. Thus, I have renamed the aquatic Grimm "Leviathan", as I think it is a much more suitable name, although whether it is the appropriate name… that is in the air. Same goes for the shock dust, which is actually just Lightning Dust.**

 **Once again, with the upcoming month-long winter break, I definitely will have more time to improve upon the quality and quantity of the future chapters. That being said, reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. They help me improve my craft, which lets you read better chapters.**

 **Dogs are a man's best friend,**

 **Diamonds are a girl's best friend,**

 **And reviews are a writer's best friend.**

 **-The Bard**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5** : Introductions

* * *

From what Connor had learned after arriving, Halitus once had a military outpost in the early days of its inception. As people flocked to the town and the surrounding areas between it and the capital, the council saw fit to expand its borders to accommodate the successful rise of another human settlement. The outpost itself was circular in design, with the staging center and headquarters near the center, and there were smaller flats scattered around as well. It stood just north of Halitus, strategically placed when its borders were still expanding. The former Valean outpost was eventually decommissioned after the border stretched past Halitus into what was now the port town of Pharus, leaving the wooden buildings of the outpost empty and unused. However, the space it provided was perfect for accommodating Seventh Infantry Company and whatever task that needed to be done.

Said task, he had learned, was quite the unusual one. From what he was told, Vale had called for the conscription of young men into the Valean military, who would become the next generation of defense against the Grimm. However, as the kingdom lacked the expertise and knowledge in the finer arts of warfare, they called upon Mantle for assistance in fixing and upgrading their current military structure.

However, after the general briefing, Connor and a small number of other people were called to the outpost headquarters, near the center staging area of the outpost. It was one of the larger buildings around, and its wooden structure stood weathered and firm against the test of time.

It was here, in the main office, that they were given an additional task that seemed even more unusual. So unusual for Connor, in fact, that he had to ask the man in charge, Captain Braxis, again for further clarification.

"So…you're telling me, sir, that-" A hand raised in response. Said hand was attached to a man behind a wooden desk, who sported a bald head, a dark blonde goatee, a light horizontal scar on his cheek, along with a set of hard teal eyes.

"Yes, Corporal Damascus, you heard right. You, along with a handful of others from the company, will go undercover as conscripted men and train alongside them." Braxis stated matter-of-factly. However, Connor pushed further.

"I don't understand. Sir. Why-"

"Primarily information. We, the officers, will be operating under the assumption that most of the conscripts have come here because it was required of them, and not of their own volition. That being said, we assume that it will be difficult to gauge how they feel about all of this, especially when they have no reason to trust us at the moment. However, these coming months will be pivotal in their development as soldiers," he explained. He shuffled around some papers on his desk before continuing.

"The matter at hand is not just about mandatory service. Since we, representing Mantle, are actively involved with Valean affairs, we are also dealing with the issue regarding sovereignty between kingdoms. If we cannot assuage their worries, then we may as well be wasting our time. Thus, the burden lies upon you all to assess their sentiments accurately and report back to us."

"And secondly, which is closely related to the first. I want you all to help them if they seem to be struggling. Motivate them to perform. Do what you can to set good examples for the rest of them. We want them to be motivated, but we, as instructors, can only do so much. However, if you, their perceived peers, were to take the initiative, they might just fall in line."

"And is it only just us that's doing this, sir?" One behind Connor asked.

"At the moment, yes. We don't want too large of a group of people to draw unneeded attention. Aside from reporting in, you should all try to avoid excessive contact with the instructors as much as possible. That is not to say you cannot interact with us, merely that you should do so in moderation, as any of the townspeople would. This will also apply to your fellow comrades who aren't undercover, who will be living in a different section."

"It still seems like quite the task, sir, having to train such a large amount of unwilling people," Connor pointed out.

"Hardly. There are others just like us across this kingdom doing the same thing. However, as of now we only have enough spare resources for the northern regions, as they are much closer in distance to Mantle. The hope is that, in time, we will be able to expand southwards. For now, that is the best we can do." Braxis sighed in response. With that, he stood with hands clasped behind his back.

"That is not your primary concern, so there is no need to dwell on that. Your barracks and beds have already been assigned. I suggest you go there now and change into the civilian attire we have provided for you in your chests. The conscripts are already arriving and being processed. Do you have any other further questions?" He asked, looking everyone in the eye.

"No, sir. Thank you for your clarification, sir." With that, Connor and the other individuals turned and left the outpost headquarters. Near the front door was Finnegan, leaning against the wall. He pushed himself off and began walking alongside Connor as they headed towards the barracks and began spouting his usual nonsense.

"So, what is it this time? Cleaning the latrines? Offering yourself as Grimm bait? Ooh, how about-"

"Shut up, Finnegan." Connor didn't even look as he took a lazy swipe at him, who ducked with about the same amount of energy.

"Basically, some of us are to go undercover as conscripts. Figure out how the people are feeling about the whole thing, then report it to the higher-ups. If need be, we are to motivate them to train hard for their own sake," he explained, boots crunching on the dirt and gravel underfoot as they walked.

"Looks like you've got your work cut out for you." Finnegan frowned thoughtfully, and Connor huffed in amusement.

"Well, I take cold comfort in the fact that, during this time, I am to keep minimum contact with anyone from the Seventh to avoid arousing suspicion. Fortunately for me and my sanity, that also includes you." To which Finnegan brought his hand over his heart in an exaggerated display of shock.

"Such harsh words! Does out friendship mean nothing to you?" He brought the back of his forearm to rest against his forehead. "I have been betrayed!"

Connor rolled his eyes as they continued walking, passing buildings and people moving around. There was still much work to be done. Although the outpost buildings had remained standing over the years, the same could not be said for its interiors. Aside from a few buildings that needed minor repairs, years of cobwebs, dust, and other detritus had gathered in the interiors of many of them. Thus, ever since the company had arrived a few days ago, most of the ongoing work had been focused on making the outpost livable again. Once that had been complete, it had simply been a matter of organizing and storing equipment in the right locations and settling in.

Eventually, they reached the part of the outpost where the barracks were. Many of them were for the conscripted townspeople, but from what Connor could see, there was a small group of buildings a bit off to the side, where most of the officers and soldiers were living.

"Well, it certainly doesn't look bad." Finnegan mused, bringing Connor out of his short-lived thoughts. They both entered the building for a quick inspection. On the second floor, they noted the double rows of bunk beds. For the time being it was empty, but if what he was told was correct, people would start filling in soon.

"Bunks, huh? Definitely not bad at all." Finnegan remarked.

Connor did not respond. Rather, he walked over to the small chest by his assigned bunk, which had an identifying number on it. Inside were some freshly washed, if not plain-looking, clothes. He quickly began to strip, then changed into his new attire just as fast. Finnegan examined his clothing, sweeping his eyes up and down.

"Not too shabby there. Though you should probably do something about your face. Much too serious. Might just scare everyone away," he concluded.

"I wish it could scare you away." Connor muttered under his breath, which drew an amused snort from Finnegan.

"I'll be the head of the Mantlean High Command before that happens. Face aside, you really look like a proper son of a farmer now."

Connor made to respond, but before he could, he felt himself being abruptly pushed from behind. He stiffened, and made to respond to whoever would dare assault him.

To his surprise, said assaulter was a young blonde man who seemed to have fallen onto the floor.

* * *

Men were going about their business, moving boxes and other supplies. Wagons were coming and going, dropping off a number of conscripts. Some looked nervous and uneasy, others walking around with bravado and chests puffed, and there were some that didn't seem to care either way. Two of said conscripts had just stepped off with their bags, while one of them carried a long box.

"Well, here we are. Our home away from home for the next year." Dnonvan stated quite plainly.

"Doesn't look so bad." Julius responded, despite the fact that his eyes were currently locked onto the multiple bags that seemed to oppose his every wish to carry them as he wrestled with them.

As the wagon pulled away and Julius resolved his bag problem, the two found themselves in front of a small building with a line through the door. As they looked on, other people walked out with papers that they seemed to be reading quite thoroughly.

"Seems important." Julius remarked.

"You don't say. Come on." Donovan rolled his eyes.

The two took their place at the end of the line. After a somewhat long wait, the two were greeted by what looked to be a soldier behind a table, who looked as ill-tempered as he was tired. Behind him were columns upon columns of filing cabinets.

"Names," he droned with the charm of a decaying Ursa. The two hesitated before providing him with what he requested.

"Julius Arc."

"Donovan Winchester."

He shuffled around the cabinets, muttering their surnames as he searched. He then stopped, opened one, and pulled out two files.

"Here is your information for your quarters, bed, and chest," he said, turning around and passing both of them some papers and a regulation booklet. "You will also find rules, regulations, and information on most of the things you need to know during your stay here. Make sure you remember and stick to them. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary action."

They both nodded in silence, and made their way out.

"Well, that explains a lot." Julius concluded.

"Let's get a move on. From what I can see, our quarters are on the other side of the outpost."

After some asking and searching, the two walked into their building, which seemed to be a very long, two-story building. And there were rows of said buildings, with people wandering around the vicinity. When they walked in, they were greeted by silence.

"Well. Looks like we're the first ones here for the time being."

The first floor was divided into two major sections. One side seemed to be a common area, with some tables and chairs strewn about in no particular fashion. The other half was lined with sinks, toilets, small lockers, and what seemed to be hastily installed showerheads.

"Oh boy, shared showers. Won't be awkward at all." Donovan remarked. "Would it have killed anyone to add some partitions?"

"It's fine. You just have to not look down." Julius tried to counter, although the prospect of showering in what was basically the open was a strange and foreign concept to him as well.

They proceeded to the second story, and was greeted by rows upon rows of bunk beds. By the foot of each bunk were two small chests for putting in personal belongings. Further down the hall were two other people, one in civilian attire and the other in a grey military one.

Julius did not notice, however, as he began walking down the hall, eyes cast downwards towards his information sheet. He checked each number on the chests as he walked down. However, he had misjudged the distance between him and the other two people, and promptly walked into one of them.

It was like walking into a wall. He wasn't expecting to crash into something so hard, and so he easily lost his balance. His bags, sensing weakness, also plotted together to bring him down. Before he knew it, he found himself on the floor, with his bags and his legs in a pitiable tangle. He began trying to free himself, until he saw a hand extended out to him. He took it, and felt himself being jerked upwards.

"Thanks" Julius said. And after some thought. "You also living here?"

"Yeah." His savior answered. He had jet black hair, with a very short cut, and his eyes seemed to be carefully scrutinizing him. He looked lean, but the force at which Julius found himself pulled up hinted at far more underneath that frame.

"Well. It's nice to meet you. Julius Arc," he said, offering a hand.

"Connor Damascus." He took it and gave a firm shake in response. "And this person here next to me is Finnegan Byrnes." Who waved

"Hey." Finnegan greeted nonchalantly, also briefly shaking Julius' hands.

"Ah, right. This is-" Julius began, remembering the fourth person in the area.

"Donovan Winchester. Well met." Donovan finished. He too briefly shook both of their hands. He then went over to their assigned chest a few bunks down and began setting his bags in and around his box, then returned to Julius.

"Come on. Get unpacked. We still have to take a look around."

Julius complied, and unceremoniously dumped his bags by his chest next to Donovan's. However, he placed the box that he was carrying carefully under the bunk.

"See you around." Julius waved as he and Donovan began heading downstairs. Connor did not reply, but his curt wave was farewell enough.

"See? You're already getting along with them! This assignment will be a breeze for you." Finnegan bemoaned. Connor shook his head.

"Whatever. We should also get going soon too. There's going to be an outpost meeting at the staging area in a bit."

"Ah right. An introduction for the new guys. Brings back memories of us, doesn't it?"

"Partially. Let's go." Connor responded after a brief moment of consideration. With that, they too left the barracks.

* * *

The sun was setting, and the dust lamps were beginning to come on. They had been summoned to the center of the outpost, as was everyone else. Julius and Donovan made their way into the ever expanding crowd of people, most of whom looked as clueless as them. Connor was nowhere to be found. At the front of the area was a small platform, next to a large building. For the time being, no one was on it.

"This is quite a lot of people." Julius noted. There seemed to be at least a few hundred people. There was a current of noise as people wondered what would happen.

"I'm surprised they were able to bring everyone in the span of a day." Donovan replied over the buzz.

They did not have to wait long to see what the summons were about. Minutes after they arrived, a stream of uniformed and stern-looking men walked out of the building. They ascended onto the platform and lined themselves so that those below could see all of them. The chatter quickly died down to silence.

The man in the center broke from the line and began to walk to the edge of the platform closest to the people. He was bald and had a dark blonde goatee, with a faint horizontal scar on his cheek. He then began to speak, with legs shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind his back.

"Welcome. To begin, I am Captain Braxis, currently in charge of the operation and maintenance of the Halitus border outpost. All of you standing before me have come here as a result of the recent conscription ordered by your council. However, I still owe it to you to tell you why that is so," he began, pacing the length of the platform, with every eye in the vicinity locked onto him.

"With the assistance of Mantle's knowledge and expertise, the Valean military will be undergoing a complete overhaul of its current military structure. No longer will it rely on loosely associated militias and border guards. Rather, it will serve the kingdom as a unified, standing army against the Grimm. You will be that army." He stopped and looked over them all before resuming his pacing.

"Many of you probably do not wish to be here. That is understandable. However, under the discretion of your council, this is what we are left to contend with. Even if you feel that you should not be here, I ask you to reconsider. I will ask you to think past yourself, to think of the people you know and love. This concerns more than just ourselves, but also the people who we wish to be safe and happy." His voice softened, hoping that he would be able to impart some wisdom to these impressionable youths. His voice then regained its official tone.

"There is no need to worry. In time, you will learn the proper ways to protect yourself and your fellow man and fight back against the Grimm. As long as you follow the training and instruction we give you, you will not have to worry about the Grimm. With the assistance of Mantle's Seventh Infantry Company, you will learn fundamental military arts, from close quarters combat to organized firing formations to weapons maintenance."

"I hope that, despite your concerns, you will come together for the greater good, and to serve and protect your kingdom. For it is in doing so that you preserve the peace and progress humanity. Through this, you will become the bastions of peace and stability for all," He concluded. He let it hang a moment, then returned to fill his empty space at the center of the line.

Julius felt something within him stir. The speech was short, but succinct. He had been interested to see what it was that true soldiers did, and this speech was a validation for that. However, he still felt that something was missing, as if the speech could have been longer. He took a sidelong glance to Donovan, who still had his eyes faced forward to the platform.

He could not place his finger on it, so he dropped the matter.

Another officer soon took his place, who seemed more of a bear than a man, full of coarse brown hair, and began to speak.

"Thank you for the introduction, Captain Braxis," he rumbled. Was it possible that he was part bear? No one asked.

"I am Sergeant Orso. I will be one of your instructors among many. Aside from Captain Braxis, everyone else you see here will also be your instructors." He, unlike Braxis, stood still as he spoke.

"With that out of the way, we can get into the important information that you need to know. As Captain Braxis has stated, we are tasked with training you all to become an effective and unified fighting force against the Grimm. Thus, two vital aspects as a soldier you must all have are proper instruction and equipment. Combat training, weapon handling, and proactive and reactive combat formations are but a few of the many things you will learn during your time here. For gear, armor, and equipment, we will give you the best Mantle has to offer, from the finest melee weapons to dependable field-tested rifles. However, they will not be free. This brings me to my next point."

"You will be given a standard starting pay, equivalent to a full-time Mantlean private, approximately ten thousand lien per year, give or take. A portion of your pay will go towards offsetting the cost of your equipment. It has been adjusted so that it is fully paid off by the time you complete training. The rest of the earnings you can do with as you see fit."

That got a reaction out of the crowd, who began quietly chattering amongst each other. Ten thousand lien a year was a quite a fair amount, nothing that they would be able to make as simple townspeople. Before the noise could get out of control, Orso continued.

"You will be paid on a semi-weekly basis, so take that into consideration when choosing how to spend it. Furthermore, if time permits it, you are also allowed to visit the town of Halitus and spend time at your leisure. However, I will warn you once and only once. Failure to promptly return for training and instruction will lead to severe disciplinary action." Quiet once again reigned as many made a mental note to always keep track of time.

"For the time being, that will be all. You will always dress in uniform. Lights out will always be two hours from midnight, and training will begin every day at the seventh hour. No exceptions." Orso concluded.

"You are all dismissed." With that, the officers on the platform turned and returned to the large building. It took a while for everyone else, who stood in place, trying to process the new information that they had been given. After a while, they too began slowly trickling back to the barracks, Julius and Donovan among them.

After returning to the hall, they found themselves in quite a predicament. They had returned after most of the others, and now they were paying the price. The common area was filled with people on the chairs and around the tables, and all the sinks and showers were occupied as well. The second floor was only slightly better, as there was no need to jostle for bedding. However, it was just as crowded. They made their way to their bunk. They stopped as they passed by Connor, who had changed into a basic combat fatigues, consisting of a gray tank top, pants, and boots, and was wiping his damp hair with a towel.

"How'd you manage to take a shower already?" Julius asked.

"I was at the edge of the crowd, so I was able to get back pretty quick," He replied, throwing his towel onto his chest.

"Where'd you get the uniform?" Julius pressed. Sergeant Orso had mentioned that they had to be in uniform, but he did not know where to get one.

"If you remember, they were at the bottom of our chests when we brought our bags in earlier today, among other things." Donovan answered for him.

"Oh."

"Come on, leave him be. We need to get some rest. We can worry about getting ourselves clean later." They walked a bit further, six bunks down and on the opposite side of Connor's.

It was an eventful day, Julius thought as he lay down on his bed. He and Donovan had made an agreement earlier, where he would take top, and Donovan would take bottom. He closed his eyes and wondered how the next few years would turn out for him. Although he was nervous, he was one of the few people who was also somewhat excited at what the future held for him. He had always imagined the things he could do were he not working at the store, and it seemed Fate offered him an answer, one that place him in what was now a military outpost. His lips curved imperceptibly upwards as he thought about that.

Julius heard a commotion downstairs, as did everyone else, and it sounded like many people yelling. He sat up, as did some others, and listened. He then heard a voice that rang out above the rest.

"They've turned off the water!"

Julius sighed and let himself fall back into his bed. His thoughts kept him company as he tried to sleep, but it did not come to him until all the overhanging dust lamps dulled, leaving the hall in relative darkness.

And with the darkness, sleep overtook him.

* * *

 **A/N: And here's another chapter. Once again sorry for the delay. After I got back for break, it seems my immune system failed me and kept me bed-ridden for a few days. Most of that time was spent sleeping, reading other fanfics, and plotting out the story further. This is what happens when you do what is essentially two consecutive all-nighters trying to prepare for finals, with a pathetic 2-hour nap thrown in between. It's bad for you, and I strongly recommend against it. Fortunately, I was able to clinch a passing grade in Calculus this quarter (I will curse you until the day I die). Unfortunately, that opens the door for me to take the final class in the basic Calculus series: Multivariable Calculus. Help.**

 **With that being said, however, I've come to the realization that I should probably make an amendment to a statement I made last chapter regarding update times. I had originally stated "weekly updates", but I think I will still stick with the original plan of anywhere from one to two weeks, give or take. I am doing this in the hopes that I will be able to further improve upon my writing, which is somewhat more difficult to do that if I have a looming one-week deadline held above my head. Writing gets sloppy, proofreading is flawed, stuff like chapter was about 4000 words, so we're starting to see an upwards trend.**

 **Regardless, it is still my goal to be able to write a** **good** **story that you can enjoy, and I hope you can stick with it and help me grow. Any reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. If you have any questions regarding anything, feel free to ask as well.**

 **May your holiday seasons be filled with warmth and joy. Merry Christmas to you all.**

 **-The Bard**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6** : Perception

* * *

 _Hall of Heroes_

 _Mantle High Command_

 _Six months before Halitus conscription_

He sat alone in the pew under the high vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, he sat alone in the pew under the high vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, pieced together one limestone brick at a time and supported by thick pillars, which commanded those who entered to crane their necks and gaze upwards in reverence.. Any whispers or steps echoed across the vast space, disturbing the blanket of meditative silence. Stained glass windows adorned the cathedral walls with heroes of the past. The harsh sunlight filtered through the glass, filling the hall in a serene blanket of warmth, illuminating the dust as it floated to the ground. The older man, seemingly lost in thought, remained unfazed and aloof.

At the head of the hall was a statue on a platform, bathed in radiant golden light from the large, circular window behind it. It was a man adorned with a marble breastplate and shoulder armor atop flowing marble robes. He stood taller than five men, yet his great height was naught compared to the resplendent heights of the ceiling. He gazed slightly downwards with his lightly hooded face, his neutral features frozen in time. At his feet was a bed of black obsidian, carved into flowing, chaotic lines and masses, with white limestone and red granite depicting the faces of defeated Grimm. From one of the Grimm, a Beowolf in the throes of death, a stone greatsword plunged into its body, its golden hilt lined perfectly in center to the statue's chest, which clasped downwards in both hands.

The hushed atmosphere of this golden sanctuary was soon broken by the echoes of approaching footsteps.

"General Helms, sir." The visitor began a sharp salute. He waved a hand in response, his eyes not leaving the statue.

"I never took you to be a man of worship, sir." The visitor noted quietly, standing at attention next to the general.

"I never said I was, Sergeant Byrnes. But it is good to occasionally remind oneself of what our predecessors have done for us." remarked Helms. "Take a seat."

Byrnes complied, not questioning whether the statement was a suggestion or a command. Better safe than sorry. Regardless, they continued to sit together, quietly gazing at the statue under the light.

"Tell me, are you familiar with the story of that statue?" Helms began, his eyes still gazing upon it.

"Somewhat, sir. He was Alexander, the founder and first king of Mantle. Although that doesn't matter as much now, ever since his lineage ended and was replaced by the royal council."

"You're right. But in his time, he was mostly why Mantle as we know it exists today. His story is quite famous."

"There are few who don't know of it, sir. If I recall, he single-handedly held off the Grimm as people made their way to safety on the lower mountain ranges of Mantle." Where he was going with this, Brynes did not know.

"That is the commonly told story, yes, but time has a way of distorting figures of legend. Glorifying and epitomizing them so that they can do no wrong, so much that people forget that they too were once human." Helms muttered.

"Sir?" Byrnes asked, and Helms turned his head to face him.

"Although the story is mostly true, there is one aspect that was changed."

"And that would be, sir?"

"Alexander held the Grimm off, in a way. However, rather than defending the people, he chose to charge into the Grimm. It was haphazard, and if you think about it enough, you can deduce what happened afterwards."

Byrnes, feeling confused, ventured a guess regardless.

"The fleeing people were left without a protector?"

"Indeed. Although Alexander had the right idea in attempting to draw attention to himself, there was a fundamental flaw in his plan. The Grimm react to negative emotions. Whether it was foolishness or oversight, Alexander did not take into account the emotions of the people he was supposed to protect. As a result, their fear drew in the Grimm that slipped his guard."

Helm's gaze returned to the statue.

"Over half of the people under his protection died that day."

Now that was something that caught Byrnes by surprise, but Helms continued speaking.

"He was a master swordsman, no doubt. Those who witnessed him said that he flowed across the Grimm like water, danced around them like wind, and struck with the force of lightning. But he was young then, and foolish as well. However, in the commonly told legend, he stood defiant against the Grimm, and not a single life was lost."

Byrnes began to feel uncomfortable under the vaulted ceilings of the hall.

"After the tragedy, he chose to name our kingdom 'Mantle' so that it would serve as a constant reminder of the responsibilities we bear towards the people. Not only of our kingdom, but to all of Remnant as well. He believed afterwards that the only way we would be able to thrive against the Grimm would be to unite the world and its people, to act and live as a single entity." Helms ended the tale solemnly.

"Why are you telling me this, sir?" Was there some hidden lesson or message that he was supposed to pick up on?

"Don't mind me. Just an old general lost in his thoughts." Helms answered after a stagnant pause. He then cleared his throat.

"I doubt you are here to just chit-chat with me, Sergeant Byrnes?"

"Your audience has been requested, sir." He responded, taking the queue.

"By?"

"Lieutenant General Raleigh, sir."

"And what does Emery need help with now?" He hummed in thought. "No matter. I'll find my way there. Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. It was good to talk to you again, Sullivan. We should go have a drink sometime soon." He stood up from the pew, and gently patted himself down.

Sergeant Byrnes rose too, and with a hesitant smile, offered his hand.

"Likewise, General Helms."

"No need to be so stiff. Loosen up a bit, or you'll be buying all the officers a round." He replied, shaking Byrnes' hand firmly, whose smile widened slightly.

"Yes, sir. Good luck, sir."

General Helms strode past the pews and made his way out of the hall, footsteps rapidly fading, leaving Byrnes to gazed upon the statue, returning the hall to silence.

* * *

The walk was only a few minutes, and Helms eventually made his way to Lieutenant General Raleigh's office. After a few light knocks on the door, he let himself in.

 _As much as it pains me, I hope you are wrong._

It was a well-furnished space, and it almost seemed like an office study. On one side of the room was a large window that gave a sweeping view of the city of Mantle, and on the other were bookshelves lined with many works from a multitude of sources and a display cabinet with neatly organized bottles of liquid. There was an open space in front of the door, where there were two long couches and a small wooden coffee table in between. Behind those was a mahogany desk with a chair on either side, where another older-looking man sat, grizzled and sharp. His eyes set upon Helms.

 _I truly hope you are wrong about this_. _And yet, as much as I hope, you always seem to be right_.

"You called, Emery?"

"Indeed. Please, take a seat." Raleigh gestured, to which he complied.

"Any preferences?" Raleigh asked, moving over to the cabinet and taking a gander at its contents.

"Anything is fine." Helms replied, and was shortly greeted by a small glass of amber liquid in ice. Raleigh had one as well.

"To Mantle." Raleigh raised his glass.

"To Mantle," Helms gestured in return. After a sip, Raleigh began.

"I've done as you requested, Henry, And the preliminary reports from our aerial squads over at Alsius are as you have anticipated. There have been slight tremors in the average Grimm activity near the borders of our kingdom, but we don't know what's causing it yet." Raleigh explained, setting his glass onto his desk.

Helms close his eyes and sighed deeply.

 _You said you've made more mistakes than any man, woman, or child on this planet._

"What are we looking at down the line?" Helms questioned, opening his eyes.

"We don't know just yet. It might just be a temporary fluctuation, or an upwards trend, but we don't have enough information yet." Raleigh took another sip.

 _Is it so wrong to hope that this is another one of your mistakes?_

"And the other kingdoms?"

"Difficulties aside, we were able to secure information from them as well. Mistral was the easiest due to our close relationship between kingdoms, but Vale and Vacuo required more finesse. However, from what we can ascertain, it looks like these tremors in activity are occurring everywhere."

"What are your thoughts on contacting the other kingdoms?"

"Mistral should be fine for the time being, and Vacuo is, well… Despite these recent events, Vacuo remains largely inhospitable due to it being a desert. If anything, I would consider establishing contact with Vale. They stand at the center of Remnant, so it would best that they prepare for whatever might come their way."

 _But if this isn't a mistake, what do we do? What do you believe is the right course of action?_

Helms raised a hand.

"With moderation, Emery. I suggest we take our time and start with those at the very top. The Valean Council. We need to exercise caution, otherwise the information will seep too quickly to the people and cause widespread panic."

"Time is a limited resource, Henry. You of all people should know that, especially when it comes to the Grimm." Raleigh countered.

 _What could she possibly be planning now? There is only so much I can do in this twisted game of chess you play with her._

"If that's the case, I will request an audience with the other generals and the royal council on the matter. For the time being, find a way to establish contact with the Valean Council. If need be, try to earn favor from them to smoothen things out. Eventually, we'll let them know about what might possibly happen and hope for the best." Helms stated.

Raleigh considered it, then nodded his head.

"I'll see what I can do." With that, both of them finished their drinks and departed from the office.

 _I can only hope for the best, Osman. My old friend._

* * *

 _Halitus Border Outpost_

 _Present Day_

Julius, like many others, stifled yawns as they rose from their bunks and began changing into their uniforms. They had been woken by a loud horn that trumpeted a brisk tune across the outpost as the sky turned orange.

As he dressed, he noted the technical elegance of the boots that he was putting on. Aside from laces, there were straps on the sides of the boots, along with folds in the middle that allowed it to expand or diminish to suit the wearer's foot.

"Genius." Julius whispered to himself. A quick tap on his shoulder got his attention.

"Come on. We don't want to be late." Donovan motioned to the stairs, where everyone else was starting to stream out.

They gathered once again in the center staging area, as they were not told where to go prior. Fortunately, it was indeed the right place to go. Once again, they spotted the officers standing upon the platform, although Captain Braxis was nowhere to be seen.

Once everyone was present, one of the officers stepped up and cleared his throat.

"As Sergeant Orso has told you yesterday, training will begin shortly. However, it would be nothing short of impossible were we to start as is. Thus, you will be assigned into platoons based upon the hall that you live in."

At that, the other officers stepped forward and held a small plaque numbered from one to eight, respectively, matching the number of barracks for the conscripts in the outpost.

"I hope you paid attention to which officer held your number." He continued. "They will be your direct commanding officer for the rest of your time here."

They stepped off the platform and began going in separate ways, most likely to their own training grounds.

"Go on, move."

The congregation quickly broke up, as all of them made to follow their officers. Julius and Donovan jogged towards the officer that had held the number four.

"This'll be interesting." Donovan noted as he looked at the receding figure.

"You think he'll make us look for honey?" Julius jabbed in response.

* * *

The group stood together in front of Orso in two single-file lines at one of the outpost gates.

"During your stay here, Platoon Four, you will occasionally come into contact with people who hold a higher rank than you. As is tradition, you will address any and all superior officers as 'sir' in a firm and clear voice, as a sign of respect. That includes me, other platoon officers, and the soldiers that will be assisting me in your training. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." Many of the people chanted half-heartedly. Orso's expression did not change. However, his voice dropped a pitch and hardened to steel.

"For today's morning jog, I will be leading you in fifteen laps around the outpost. If you like, I can increase it to fifty. By then, there will be no more breakfast." He stated quietly, yet everyone heard it loud and clear.

He paused to let the threat sink in.

"Now. I will say it again. You will address any and all superior officers as 'sir' in a firm and clear voice."

"Am."

"I."

"UNDERSTOOD?" His voice escalated to a roar.

"YES, SIR!" the reply was almost deafening. Food was indeed a very effective motivator.

"Acceptable." Orso noted with the same amount of enthusiasm as he would examining dirt on his boots. That was to say, none at all.

"Before you even think about combat training, you must have a sturdy physique. When all else fails, you will only have your body to rely on. As such, I will be your sculptor, your architect. Any pain that you feel will only strengthen you." He stated.

"With that being said, let us begin."

Initially, fifteen laps around the outpost did not seem so bad. However, many underestimated the diameter of the outpost perimeter, and they were soon panting for breath.

Orso, on the other hand, seemed quite bored.

It was not until the sun had risen for some time did the platoon complete their run. By then, most were gasping for breath and doubled over, and Donovan and Julius were no exception. Only Connor and a few others seemed unaffected, but even they were sweating some.

"Don't get too comfortable. There will be more to come after breakfast, and we will be doing this every day." Orso told them. There was only a very light sheen on his body.

No one responded, but there was no need. No orders were issued, no questions asked, so none of them were obligated to respond in their condition.

"Food hall should be open by now. Get going, and reconvene at the center in thirty minutes." To which they all complied, heading towards the promise of food.

Connor shared a glance with Orso, before he too took his leave.

They were not the first to arrive, nor were they the last. Platoon Four grabbed their food and took their seats. Connor followed suit and, coincidentally, found himself seated across Julius and Donovan.

"Hey Connor." Julius waved with his fork.

"Hey yourself. You two don't look so good." Connor replied, and began digging into his meal. There was nothing spectacular about it, just some eggs, sausages, and toast, but it got the job done.

"And you look completely fine." Donovan noted with egg in his mouth. Connor's eyes narrowed imperceptibly at that. Bad habit, perhaps? He didn't want to be there when Donovan finally choked on his food while speaking.

"Yeah, what's up with that? You barely look winded." Julius added.

Connor tactfully took a bit of food and chewed it thoroughly before giving an answer. He regretted not listening more to Finnegan's imaginary persona of him.

"I work on a farm a lot. I guess I just got used to the workload." He responded. The two shared a glance, and a flicker of worry passed through Connor. Was it not enough?

"No kidding. Mr. Sewald could go the entire day under a blazing sun working the fields. You do look a bit pale for a farmer though." Julius pointed out.

Connor cursed mentally. Maybe it was good he didn't listen to Finnegan after all.

"I've been under the weather lately. Nothing too big, but it kept me inside for a few days before I came here." Connor prayed that would be enough.

"So you were running with a cold too? What are you made of?" Donovan asked with surprise. This time it was with a bite of bread.

At this point, Connor was completely at a loss. The two were surprisingly perceptive. To him, they spoke seamlessly, and yet there was nothing indicating that they were related in anyway. Not knowing what to do, he just shrugged, and almost choked when they seemed to take that as a valid explanation as opposed to his earlier ones.

 _What on Remnant is up with these two?_

Hoping to lead the conversation away, Connor took the initiative.

"Finish up. We don't have much time before training continues." He pointed out, to which Julius and Donovan startled and began quickly scarfing down the rest of their food. Connor shook his head. Should he tell them? He decided against it. Sometimes they just had to learn the hard way.

They quickly made their way to the outpost center along with everyone else, where Orso was already present. There were also other platoons doing the same.

Once everyone in Platoon Four had gathered, Orso clapped his hand once.

"Good, everyone is present. We will continue with your combat conditioning."

* * *

"I take back. Everything I said." Donovan gasped, doubled over a nearby tree alongside Julius.

"Probably shouldn't have rushed down breakfast that fast." Connor said. Honestly, what good would come of having a stomach full of food just prior to the next round of conditioning?

At the mention of food, they both groaned. Donovan began dry heaving, and spat out a wad of spit. Connor sighed. He could sympathize, if only slightly. His time on the _Vanguard_ was suffering enough.

"Come on, Platoon Four. No time for rest!" Orso yelled, who now had more than just a sheen of sweat. But with it came a smile on his face. It seemed that he greatly enjoyed the challenge of attempting to push everyone into a state of catatonic exhaustion by the end of the day.

"Move! Double time!" He commanded. Platoon Four reluctantly obeyed, for fear of the threat of more "conditioning" as punishment.

Under the midday sun, Connor thought it quite nostalgic. Sure, Mantle was much colder, but he was essentially going through basic boot camp once again. It was there that he had met Finnegan, and here he had met Julius and Donovan, who were surprisingly perceptive, in a manner of speaking.

 _Maybe it'll be an interesting year after all_.

* * *

 **A/N: Here it is. The plot begins to thicken with the flashback. But I hope that with the added thickness comes a richer and developing story that is actually good. Following the naming convention, you probably know who "Osman" is as an entity, and maybe what the name itself foreshadows. If you're having trouble visualizing the Hall of Heroes, think of the interior of the Notre Dame Cathedral. It's along the lines of that.**

 **The chapter itself is a bit shorter this time, but I'm still on that slow upwards trend when it comes of average number of words per chapter. As always, reviews and constructive criticisms are much needed and always welcome.**

 **The Bard**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7** : The Slave

* * *

" _Alssalf_ , I'll be heading out now. If everything goes according to plan, I should be back in Nazef soon," she said as she made her way out the door and into the Vacuo sun, pulling a white hood over her raven hair. A tanned and elderly man with a staff followed, his advanced age preventing him from venturing out too far.

" _Kunn Baman_ , Zahrati," he murmured as she enveloped him with a hug, his white stubble rubbing against her cheek. _Stay safe._ His body was hunched with age, but he drew comfort from her presence.

"I will." she replied as she released herself from the embrace, and began jogging away towards the city gates.

"May the winds bring you luck, my child!" he shouted, his body too old to keep up with her. He leaned slightly on his staff, waving a hand towards her retreating form.

"I don't need luck! I just need a good meal when I get back!" laughed Zahrati, her voice breaking through the stifling desert air like clear chimes as she departed. Her white desert robe flowed around her feet as she ran. Her small pack, strapped to her shoulder, bumped against her hip. When he could see her no more, he returned to his humble abode.

It took ten minutes to reach the gates of Nazef. Along the way, Zahrati passed by many things that she would normally spend entire days exploring. Narrow alleyways that twisted and turned, easily misleading careless pedestrians. Fountains and other waterworks that gave people access to fresh water, courtesy of the giant oasis in the middle of Vacuo. Bazaars, bustling with life and chaos as people wandered, browsed, and haggled at colorful wares and paraphernalia.

The gate itself, sculpted with red sandstone from local quarries, towered over the region. The equally tall connecting walls surrounding the city were broken only by other sister gates around the perimeter. On the left side of the gate was a congregation of men along with some pack camels. Their weapons were sheathed and their shields strapped; their white robes layered like sand dunes. One of the guards stationed at the gate looked on with disinterest. Congregations of people were a common sight at the gates, so as long as no one was causing a ruckus, there was no need to take action.

One of the men spotted Zahrati and waved her over, which directed everyone else's attention in the group to her. He wore a white desert head cloth, keeping most of his face out of sight. His eyes were sharp, but one of them was milky white and had a scar running down to the cheek. Zahrati gazed into them with her own hazel ones.

"Took you long enough." The man began gruffly, but chuckled as she came closer, dissipating any notion of ill will.

"Sorry about that, Nusar." She shrugged. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing of it.

"How is your _alssalf_?"

"He is doing well. He still likes taking walks to the bazaar and telling old stories to the children there."

"I see. I'll have to visit him when we return. It has been far too long since we have spoken, and I find myself missing his wisdom." He reminisced for a moment, before remembering the task at hand.

"Nothing much has changed since I contacted you a few days ago. The tracks have moved north, but it is still too close to disregard."

"How many should we expect?" She asked.

"Just one, but it very strange one at that. Most do not come within two days of walking distance, yet this one has. It is either very bold or looking for something, neither of which are comforting to consider."

"Alright. Shall we go?" she asked.

Nusar responded by barking out orders to his men, who quickly began preparing themselves for departure. In a matter of minutes, they were heading out of the gates of the city.

They hiked for hours and kept conversation to a minimum. _Dry mouths led to drier prospects_ , as the saying went. Fortunately, they were quite hardy, having trekked among the dunes of Vacuo's deserts many times before. It was not until the sun dipped under the horizon and the stars twinkled into existence did they break for camp, quickly creating small campfires to keep warm in the frigid night.

Zahrati gazed upwards as she slowly chewed through some dried rabbit meat. The night sky of Vacuo was always a sight to behold for her. The light of the stars seemed to shy away while she looked at them. And there were millions upon millions of them, each a sight to behold. Many of them formed constellations and symbols, each with stories and legends that immortalized them among the darkness. For a time she was held, entranced, by their silent vigil over the night sky.

Having finished her impromptu meal, she laid down with a contented sigh, her head resting on her pack. Soon, sleep overtook her.

* * *

"There it is." He motioned quietly over the dune, his hooded head peeking over of the crest as the midday sun beat down upon them.

She focused her eyes, and instead saw a caravan line in the distance. Her eyes narrowed when she saw that some of the individuals had chains attached to their wrists and ankles, and there were about ten of them.

 _Slave traders._ However, before she could take action, a hand rested firmly on her shoulder.

"Not the caravan. Look, over to the east." In a brief moment of confusion that temporarily held her anger at bay, she did not initially see anything. However, her eyes widened when one of the tall dunes began to shift, far more than by wind alone. She heard Nusar groan.

"Why must it wake now, of all times? Those fools!" Nusar barked, "Men, move!".

It happened all at once. As he gave the order to charge, the Deathstalker burst out of the dune, heading straight towards the caravan. It wasn't gargantuan, compared to those in the stories that she had heard as a child, but its claws were more than enough to cleave a man in two and its golden stinger large enough to gouge out a person's torso.

The men and camels of the caravan panicked, haphazardly running away from the Grimm. They spotted Nusar's group and made a beeline towards them.

"Please! Help u-" one of them began, but he was cut off as Zahrati and the others rushed past him and towards the approaching Deathstalker.

It was not one to look a gift camel in the mouth. Very rarely did humans intentionally charge at Grimm, so it instinctively chose to deal with that first, eager to run them down.

Their curved scimitars were by no means capable of outright killing it, but they would be able to chip off carapace and slowly work their way through to an exposed limb. Their bronze shields, polished to a shine, served their purpose as they redirected the desert sun into the beady eyes of the charging Grimm. The Deathstalker screeched as the blinding rays of light struck, and its rumbling charge faltered as it covered itself with its pincers.

The men held defensive stances around the Deathstalker in a semi-circle, keeping their distance and continually blinding it, while yelling and striking their blades against their shields to further assault its senses.

Zahrati ran around the outside of the formation, looking for an opening as the Deathstalker screamed in frustration. Had the shields not blinded as intended, most of them would have been trampled and flattened with ease.

However, like animals, Grimm were at their most dangerous when cornered. It swung one of its pincers outwards, far faster than Zahrati could have anticipated, and it sent three men flying backwards into the air. Dead or alive, Zahrati could not tell as she continued to look for anything that she could exploit.

 _Mother of-_ she mentally cursed as she rolled to the side, a golden stinger embedded in the sand where she had been previously, throwing up a plume of sand. Before she could retaliate, the stinger had lifted and struck another part of the formation to her left, forcing the men there to evade. The Deathstalker, sensing discord, began to inch forward, and it slowly began taking more liberal swipes and lunges as the formation slowly fell apart to the stinger.

However, the lack of dead humans frustrated the Grimm, so much that it began using increasingly excessive force and power in its stinger lunges. It was then that the stinger buried itself particularly deep into the sand, so that it could not immediately withdraw it.

"Now!" Nusar yelled as the men procured and threw a weighted net over the golden stinger and entangled it. The Deathstalker screeched in frustration as the men struggled to keep the tail down.

Sensing and opportunity, Zahrati reached behind the small of her back under her robes and pulled out a double-bladed axe head. With a jerk of her wrist, a multi-part shaft extended, until Zahrati found herself with a hefty and fully operational battleaxe. She hastily withdrew a small pouch from her belt, opened it, and poured its crimson contents into a small hold on the shaft in between the two blades. She then closed her eyes and concentrated.

Almost immediately, the blades of her axe gleamed, now lined with active burn dust, and the temperature around her rose considerably. With enough of it, she could cleave through stone with ease. With her weapon primed, she leapt high into the air, far higher than any normal person, and readied her axe to strike.

The Deathstalker screeched once again as it finally mustered enough force to free its stinger from the sand, flinging men into the air, but the net remained tangled around the stinger.

It did not register the descending figure as it made to continue its offensive, but Zahrati made it register the molten blade of her weapon with a yell. It let out a piercing scream as the axe buried itself into the plate above its eyes. It convulsed and bucked as its innards began boiling, effectively cooking it alive from within.

Zahrati gritted her teeth as she held onto her axe, the Deathstalker desperately attempting to shake her and her axe off. It could not roll over to crush her, but it spun and jerked from side to side. Its struggle gradually grew weaker, and with a final rattle of death, it collapsed and stilled, with the smell of burnt ichor lingering in the dry desert air.

She ripped the axe out, burnt flesh clinging to the blade. Sweat dripped from her forehead, both from the adrenaline and the residual heat that the axe was still releasing.

She hopped off the carcass and took a sip from her canteen. She then walked over to Nusar, who was tending to one of the wounded.

He whimpered and breathed rapidly as Nusar nursed his forearm, which was unnaturally still. Although the shield, which was now bent inwards, had absorbed most of the swing, it could not prevent bone from being broken.

"Easy does it now." hushed Nusar. "Zahrati, bring me my bag!"

She did so and handed the bag over, Nusar grunted in acknowledgement, then quietly rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

He re-set the limb, which elicited a pained groan from the man. However, Nusar quickly fashioned a quick splint from some rods and wrappings that were in his bag.

"There we go." he sighed, tipping some water into the man's mouth.

"Thank you, Zahrati. Go see if you can help the others. He'll live, but I need to ensure that he does not go into shock."

 _It didn't kill him, so we'll take what we can get._

Broken bones were not much of a concern when it came to the Grimm. As long as one survived, they could heal, and in time, fight once again.

Those who were flung into the air were in similar states of injury, and one was completely unconscious. Zahrati hoped that there would be no lasting damage as she helped in whatever way she could, which wasn't much. There was only so much she could do while she held her slowly cooling axe.

When she was no longer needed, she directed herself to the other problem at hand

The men of the caravan were profusely thanking any of the fighters that they came in contact with. One of them had some color on his robes, a well-decorated dagger on his belt, and a turban wrapped around his head. He seemed to be in charge, as he directed his men to calm the camels. The slaves stood still, mute, as people went about recovering from the attack.

Zahrati approached the leader, to which he opened his arms and smiled.

"As I live and breathe, thank you! That was a magnificent strike! You slew the beast like a hero in legends of old!" However, his enthusiasm faltered upon seeing the blank expression she wore on her face.

"Where did you find these children?," she asked, her voice betraying no emotion.

"Well... it would be wrong to say that we 'found them'," he chuckled nervously after a brief moment of hesitation. "We were able to acquire them for quite a discount! It was too good to pass up on the potential profits!"

"Release them."

His smile faltered, then returned.

"I can do no such thing, my lady." He tried to soothe her. "As traders, there is nothing wrong with us conducting honest busi-"

Whatever he was about to say died in his throat as he directly looked her in the eye. That was when he saw it.

"You're a monster," he whispered as his eyes narrowed. His hand fell to his side, resting on the dagger that was strapped to his belt.

Zahrati remained silent in response.

"What was I thinking? How could anything good come of having one of you help us?," he sneered in derision. He took a few steps forward with his chest puffed in arrogance, almost face-to-face with her.

"You're one of those disgusting _freaks_. Your birth was the result of two imbeciles who were too pathetic to know any better," he spat, spittle flying onto her face.

"Release the slaves," she repeated quietly.

"I will do no such thing. Since when did I have to take orders from a degenerate bitc-"

His words were silenced as a fist drove itself into his gut, forcing the air out of his body. He fell forward and promptly released the contents of his stomach onto the sand. Heaving, he raised his head…

...only for a foot to swing across his jaw, sending him onto his back. His vision swam as lances of pain raced through his head. With what remaining energy he could muster, he made to sit up, only to be stilled immediately as he felt the heat from her axe, its blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. A bead of sweat fell from his chin onto its face, and it hissed violently on contact.

"Zahrati!" Nusar called out, quickly walking towards her with the intent of stopping this foolishness. However, he stopped in his tracks when her eyes fell upon him.

There was no need to say anything as her gaze returned to the trader. She was willing and ready to kill.

"Now."

He turned his head to one of his men and slightly jerked his chin upwards, who went over to the slaves and undid their chains. They ran over to Nusar's men for protection, afraid of both the traders and what she would do.

"What now? Will you kill me?" he asked, refusing to make eye contact. From what she could tell, under that defiance was an undercurrent of growing fear.

"I will also be taking two of your pack camels," she replied, withdrawing her axe and throwing a small pouch from her belt onto the ground next to him.

"That's the only business I'll do with you. Consider yourself fortunate that I am not offering your head as payment instead," she explained, taking note of his confused expression. "However, if you still feel the need to conduct 'honest business' in the future, I will have no qualms about taking your life or those of your men. Do you understand?"

He kept his eyes focused downward and his mouth shut in submission, now that the confusion and adrenaline had worn off. However, he did not answer the question.

"Do. You. Understand?" she hissed.

He nodded hastily, appearing to have no notion of aggression or defiance.

 _Not good enough_.

His head shot up in surprise and fear as the air around him grew hotter. The axe, which had been cooling, was now once again turning molten hot. Before he could react, he found himself pressed into the sand, a foot firmly pressed against his chest. His eyes met hers, and it was then that he felt true fear.

Black slit irises bored into him, cold and merciless.

"No, please!" he begged, his arms raised upwards in a final, pathetic attempt to defend himself.

He felt tears streaming down the sides of his face as the axe rose into the sky like a vengeful sun, the heat emanating from it becoming unbearable. Zahrati's face was blank as her axe reached its apex.

"Zahrati. stop!" Nusar yelled as he ran to her. However, he was far too late to stop this madness.

"PLEASE! NO! PLEASE!" he screamed, his squirming useless against her foot.

Nusar could only watch as the axe fell and the trader's pleas descended into panicked gibberish.

Time stood still as the axe hit its mark.

* * *

" _Salaam_ , _Zaiem_ Osman." _Peace be unto you._ Nusar greeted with an extended hand as he walked through the door. The room was simply furnished, with a low table and stout stools atop a large, maroon carpet. There were two other doorways: one leading to a small kitchen, and the other to their sleeping quarters.

" _Salaam_ , Nusar. And please, no need for the title. I no longer lead you,"the old man returned the gesture with his own, his other hand clutching his staff.

"It has been far too long since I have visited. I apologize for my rudeness." He said as he took a seat.

"Nonsense. You lead your own men now, so I doubt you have much free time. I take it that they are well after your most recent expedition?" Osman chuckled as he poured two cups of water and handed one to Nusar.

"For the most part, yes. Many broken bones to deal with, but fortunately no deaths this time. Zahrati was able to strike the killing blow just as it began breaking our formation."

"That is more that we can ask for, Nusar. Even for you." he sighed in content as he took his own seat.

"I suppose you are right." Nusar contemplated. "How have you been?"

"As well as anyone can do in my age, I suppose. My hips don't move like they used to and I ache whenever it gets too cold, but I'm still alive and kicking."

Nusar smiled as he took a sip of water. Although Osman seemed old and feeble, there was no doubt that he still retained some strength from when he led their group of mercenaries long ago. Nusar was younger then, and learned much under his leadership. A leadership that they both reminisced about fondly.

"-and he said 'I offer to you the finest powdered ice dust'. Remember?"

"I do. Wasn't it actually just sugar in the end?" Osman ventured.

"Indeed, but we didn't realize it until our camel started licking it." They both laughed.

"As much as I miss leaving the city, my body is far too old to do anything useful. I hope Zahrati will be able to learn from her experiences in my stead," he said. His eyes then furrowed in concern.

"And where would she be? She hasn't returned for quite a while. Did she manage to lose herself in one of the bazaars again? Knowing her, she's going to spend it all on needless things."

Nusar stilled, not knowing how exactly to put his thoughts into words.

"Well, you see, I was going to collect payment for completing the bounty after I came to visit you. With that being said, I have not yet distributed her share, so she does not have anything to spend yet."

"Then where is she?"

"She is currently on her way to the settlement of Yusif, five days south from here" he stated, after an extended period of hesitation.

"Explain yourself." Osman said quietly, any trace of hospitality gone.

"We were able to bring down the Deathstalker, which had been trailing a caravan. That was why it had come so close to the city. But the problem arose when we discovered that the caravan had slaves from Yusif." He explained.

"It turns out that they had been abducted by a group of bandits, and they were transferred to the slavers to be sold for a split of the profit. So Zahrati took it upon herself to take them back."

"Foolish girl," Osman muttered. "I doubt the slave traders were happy about this arrangement."

"They weren't at all. But when she threatened their leader's life, they had no choice but to agree. That and two of their pack camels."

"She didn't kill him, did she?" Osman asked in shock, eyes widening.

"Fortunately, no. But she came close. Far too close. The sand next to his head became hot enough to burn his scalp. When she left for Yusif, he was still a mess."

And what a mess it had been. His bodily functions failed to keep his lower robes from being soiled, and his eyes were deranged as he continued to spout drivel long after she was gone.

To Nusar, Osman always held a quiet, inner aura of strength and resilience around him. But now, having learned of what Zahrati did, he looked absolutely drained.

"And yet, I cannot help but think that she would react that way," Osman sighed again, his head bowed in fatigue.

"She cannot bring herself to let go of the past, even after all this time?"

"Indeed. There is only so much I can do to pull her away from that darkness, Nusar. When she has witnessed firsthand the limits of human cruelty, I feel that it may be impossible to ever fully recover from it. You should know too. You were there with me."

Nusar leaned back on his seat, remembering memories that he would rather not remember.

"Over fifteen years." Nusar whispered. "It almost seemed like yesterday."

"Regardless, I believe she will be fine. She is a resilient person. That much we both know."

Nusar quietly nodded in agreement. Osman then chose to steer the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Do you keep in contact with your brother Maysan?" he queried, to which Nusar scoffed.

"Hardly. He's always keeping himself busy with work from the sultan."

"You should not be so harsh, Nusar. He is unfit for combat, so he is serving in his own way."

"He chose a coward's path, choosing a pen over the sword. What will it do against the Grimm? He can grow fat and complacent, for all I care." Nusar grumbled.

"Nusar!" Osman reprimanded. "I not hear of this. He is your family, and you will give him the respect he is due."

He attempted to retort, but was quelled by a sharp glare.

"It seems that I must apologize once again, Osman." Nusar finally admitted.

"He is also doing important work. Times are changing, and hidden gears are turning. If we are to confront the coming storm, we will need to rely upon his knowledge and influence as one of the many hands of the sultan." he explained with a softer tone.

"The coming storm? What are you talking about?" Nusar asked, perplexed. In the past months, there was nothing to indicate that anything was amiss, aside from a peculiar rise in Grimm extermination requests. But that simply just meant more money to go around, and it wasn't uncommon for fluctuations to occur every few years.

"I ran into Maysan a few days ago while I was walking around the local bazaar, and he told me about a recent stirring amongst the Grimm. Now, we both know that this is usually not a cause for concern." Osman explained, and Nusar nodded.

"However, he tells me that the sultan recently received contact from a messenger hailing from the kingdom of Mantle. They are extending a gesture of so-called 'friendship' as well as offering to open trade relations."

Nusar did not yet fully comprehend what he was trying to get to, so Osman continued.

"I believe we are dealing with more than just a coincidence. Contact from another kingdom during a period of more Grimm? And why now, of all times? They have never shown interest in us before, so I find this sudden forwardness unsettling. There is something they are not telling us, and I have a suspicion that it may involve more than just simply trade."

"What can we do?"

"For the time being, nothing. We don't know enough, but I urge you to be vigilant." Osman concluded.

"You should go collect your pay. The day is almost over." he pointed out as the sky turned orange as the sun began to set.

"Very well. It was good talking to you again." Nusar stood and brushed himself off.

"Likewise."

" _Ila-liqaa,_ Osman." _Until we meet again._

" _Ila-liqaa_ , Nusar."

* * *

Zahrati once again sat by a campfire, but she was not alone. Around her were the slaves that she had rescued. They had been trekking for two days now, and they subsisted mostly off of the provisions found in the pack camels. Fortunately, there were more than enough to go around.

Although they sat by the campfire, she noted that there was an invisible gap between her and the slaves. It seemed that they were apprehensive of her, not because of her faunus nature, but because of her display of violence towards the leader of the slave traders. But she noted that there was a marked difference in the way they acted now as opposed to when they were in the caravan. Many of them were quietly conversing with each other, learning each other's stories as they sat around the fire.

Zahrati did not mind. _This was a far better outcome than what could have been_.

She sighed, tired from the extended trek, so she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep.

"So what are you going to do with us?" A voice caught her attention. She did not open her eyes immediately, hoping that the new presence next to her would simply leave. When it didn't, she opened her eyes and and sat up. She saw a young girl, no older than ten, looking at her. Her skin was dirty and her clothes were tarnished, but her eyes were locked onto Zahrati's.

"You've taken us away from the bad men. What will you do with us now?" she asked again. There was no malice or concern in her voice. Just curiosity.

"I'm going to take you back home, to Yusif."

"Why?"

"It's not right that you have to live as slaves, so I'll make sure that you don't." Zahrati assured. The girl seemed satisfied with the answer, so she sat back down. However, she surprised Zahrati by stitting next to her. Before she could say anything, another voice sounded out.

"And why do you care?" This time it was a young man, a few years her junior. He had small tusks on the corners of his mouth. A boar faunus, perhaps?

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Why should I believe that you're taking us back to Yusif? For all we know, you could just be lying to us," he accused, suspicion thick in his voice.

Zahrati sighed again. She didn't want to deal with this. She was too tired to, so she simply chose to nip the issue in the bud. She gestured for the former slaves to come over, which they did with varying degrees of caution. The girl sitting next to her remained seated, a look of curiosity on her face.

Zahrati pulled back the robe sleeve on her right arm. It was faint, but on her inner forearm was a small symbol that looked like a sharp, upside down hook with a downwards triangle superimposed over it.

"This is a _wasumm_. A slave brand. Once you are sold to the highest bidder, it is common practice to brand the slave with a symbol unique to the purchaser sometime after the trade is complete." She looked at the scar tissue. It had slowly faded over the years, but it would never disappear completely.

"It was about twenty years ago. I was young then, no older than five, and my parents were killed by the same people that seared this brand onto my skin. I served as a slave for five years until I did something that displeased my former owner. He sold me, and on the way to another city I was rescued by my _alssalf_ and Nusar. Nusar was the one with the milky eye." Zahrati finished. The slaves around her looked at her, their initial distrust gone after having heard her story.

" _Alssalf_?" the young girl broke in.

"Grandfather. Not by blood, but he is still my family." Zahrati explained with a small smile.

"So now you know why I am doing this," she stated, before getting back to the matter at hand. "We have a long day ahead of us, but it we are fortunate, we will be back in Yusif in one more day, so go get some rest."

With that, the slaves returned to their original seats around the campfire. Zahrati once again closed her eyes and laid back onto her pack, although this time with the company with the young girl next to her.

They all gradually gave in to sleep, with the stars in the night sky holding vigil.

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter, another character. With this, the four major characters have been introduced. From here, the slow march to the inevitable war begins.**

 **Some translations, in case you didn't catch them (based off of Arabic).**

 ** _Alssalf_ : Grandfather or elder**

 ** _Kunn Bamann_ : Stay safe**

 ** _Salaam:_ Short for "peace be with you"**

 _ **Zaiem:**_ **Leader, captain, or boss.**

 _ **Ila-liqaa:**_ **Until we meet again**

 **So in the middle of writing this chapter, a WoR segment was released on the Great War. I had been hoping that Roosterteeth wouldn't do so for a while, if only to let this story develop more. That being said, I don't have any intentions of significantly altering the plot in response to the WoR. If anything, I thought that it was a bit too black-and-white (yeah, yeah "history written by the winners" yada yada), so my goal with this fanfic is to explore the grayer areas, where hard choices are made and moral compasses are put to the test. If you have already seen the WoR, I hope that you can read and enjoy this with an open mind. For those of you who do not, the same applies. There's definitely more I want to say on this matter, but I can't articulate them well enough at the moment.**

 **As always, reviews and constructive criticisms are much needed and greatly appreciated.**

 **The Bard.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8:** Training and Reporting

* * *

Donovan's eyes snapped open as the morning bugle trumpeted across the outpost. He, along with most of platoon four, rose and immediately began getting dressed. However, there was something different this time.

He gazed down towards his hand, clenching and unclenching it.

On that first day, he and platoon four had stumbled into their quarters, worn down to the bone. Even Connor, the most resilient of them all, had quietly changed out of uniform and wordlessly fell onto his bed.

Not Sergeant Orso, though. He had concluded that day's conditioning with an apathetic grunt and an ever-stubborn sheen of sweat that refused to break.

 _Some architect he was_.

However, it was what happened the morning after that truly bewildered him. He had fallen asleep with his entire body feeling as if on fire, his agonized muscles screaming in pain at any sudden movements.

So when he woke up the morning after, why was it that he only felt moderately sore?

He had no time to contemplate that second morning as the bugle trumpeted off, as it had been for the past three weeks.

This morning, however, he woke feeling perfectly fine. Not even the slightest ache, even though the amount of conditioning they had been doing had not decreased. If anything, Orso had added another five laps to their morning "warm-up", which had initially been met with muted groans. And even then, Donovan felt that the running had lost its harsh edge.

 _But how_? Donovan considered as he laced his boots. Was it something in their food? Was Sergeant Orso secretly practicing black magic on them? This rate of recovery was unnatural. There were days in the forge where he had strained himself less and still felt it for days.

 _And yet now I'm perfectly fine after a night's rest._

His thoughts were interrupted as a figure fell from the top bunk and landed in a squat. Julius rubbed his eyes and began wordlessly donning his uniform.

"Hurry up, Julius. Everyone else is almost finished."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," he replied, still half-asleep.

Donovan shuddered as he recalled a particularly unpleasant memory from their first week at the outpost when someone woke up late.

* * *

" _WHERE ARE PRIVATES STENSON AND FENWICK!?" Orso roared at platoon four, which was missing two of its members._

 _The two in question had chosen not to wake immediately following the bugle, and instead chose to sleep in. At the time, Connor did not notice, having been one of the first to leave the barracks. No one else had said anything regarding the matter, as they were too focused on the inevitable conditioning that would befall them. However, that oversight would lead to something far, far, worse._

" _Down!"_

" _Up!"_

" _Two hundred and thirty-four, sir!"_

" _Down!"_

" _Up!"_

" _Two hundred and thirty-five, sir!"_

" _DOWN!"_

" _UP!"_

" _TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX, SIR!"_

 _This went on until the platoon had reached almost three hundred and fifty push-ups, and at this point it was almost impossible for them to sound out, far too drained as they gasped for air and grit their teeth in pain. Orso did not have anything to say regarding that, knowing that he was pushing them far beyond their current limits, only continuing his steady cadence of "down" and "up". It was then that two in question came running out, eyes wide._

" _Position of attention, move!" Orso sounded out, to which the rest of the platoon quickly stood up, Orso doing likewise._

" _At ease." he said, to which they sighed and began shaking and rubbing their now numb arms. Orso then directed their attention to the two newcomers._

" _So, you two have finally decided to grace us with your presence? What do you have to say for yourselves?" he asked politely, although it only instilled fear in the two._

" _We overslept, sir! It won't happen again, sir!" One of them, Stenson, yelled, eyes fearfully pointed forward as his body stood stiff at attention._

" _Oh?" Orso's eyebrows raised in mock interest. "Overslept, you say? Well, I don't see how that's such a bad thing, is it? Now tell me, did that sleep feel good? Restful? Rejuvenating?"_

" _We didn't mean it, sir!"_

" _I didn't ask if you meant it, private. I asked you if your sleep. Was. Good? Orso's now polite tone had a forced edge to it, which somehow manage to frighten the two even more._

" _No, sir! It was not good, sir!" They both yelled._

" _Really now?" He feigned surprise. "And here I thought that, if you chose to sleep more, there must certainly be something beneficial about it. No? Then allow me to introduce you to something that is most certainly… 'good'."_

 _The platoon was too drained to react as the two were ordered to the ground, waiting for Orso's command._

" _Let this be a reminder to you all. If you believe you feel pain now, it will be nothing compared to your arm being ripped off by an Ursa or your eye gouged out by a Beowulf. Why, you ask? Because if any of you are not present and ready when the time comes, you leave your unit exposed. I have seen far too many ignorant fools who thought they knew better than their fellow man, only to have that foolishness lead to the deaths of them and their units." Orso lectured as his nostrils flared. His hands were clasped behind his back as he paced in front of the platoon, looking each of them in the eye._

" _This is what we are attempting to teach you during your year here. Despite humanity's success in driving back the Grimm, they are still a force to be reckoned with. A few boarbatusk can run down a formation as easily as a lone Nevermore can raze a small settlement to the ground. You must always be vigilant, and the first step to doing so is adhering to protocol. Said protocol," Orso said as he shot a look at the two on the ground, still awaiting for his command, "includes being punctual to mandatory training."_

" _You will act as a single unit; triumphing as one, or failing as one. There will be no petty displays of valor or singular ability. The Grimm will not distinguish who they kill, so you must never entertain the notion that you are better than your fellow man, regardless of where you came from or what you can do. Am I understood?"_

" _Yes, sir!" The platoon responded._

" _Go and complete your twenty laps," he waved towards the gate. "Stenson and Fenwick, begin."_

 _As they silently made their way to the gate, they could hear Orso's steady cadence of "down" and "up" as the two began their "corrective action"._

* * *

Today was a different day. After their morning run and breakfast, platoon four had found themselves on a long range, with the grass trimmed short and straw dummies covered in black fabric to represent the Grimm over at the other end. Orso stood in front of the platoon with a rack of rifles next to him. To the rack's side were a line of soldiers, Finnegan included, who stood at attention with their own rifles. He took one and held it out parallel to his chest for all to see.

"This here is one of the pride and joys of Mantle's military; one of the major reasons why we have been able to take the fight to the Grimm and expand our kingdom's borders. I present to you the M500 Linfield. It is a bolt-action rifle capable of firing many types of dust rounds, and it is the current standard firearm for our forces. The Five-hundred series is the newest iteration of many generations of long range Grimm stopping power." Orso explained as everyone's eyes were fixed upon the weapon he held.

The stock and forestock of the rifle consisted of a rich, dark brown wood. The barrel, muzzle, hammer, bolt handle, and sight seemed to be all iron, polished to a shine.

"Think of it as a personal gift from Mantle's military. It is designed to bring death to the Grimm, nothing more, nothing less. It will be your girlfriend, your lover, your mistress, and your concubine as long as you serve. Why? Because when you're stationed at the borders, it will be your first line of defence against the Grimm. If your aim is true and your squadron is not caught in an ambush, it should be your _only_ necessary line of defence." He then gestured to the line of soldiers next to him.

"Allow them to demonstrate."

Finnegan and the soldiers turned and took their positions on the range across from the dummies and raised their own rifles.

"On my mark." Orso ordered, and multiple clicks were heard as they flicked the safety off. Platoon Four waited with bated breath.

"Fire!"

Many of them flinched when the cracks of gunfire broke the air and echoed down the range, leaving only a deafening silence in its wake.

The dust rounds tore through the dummies, leaving gaping holes in black fabric. They noticed that some of the holes were catching fire, while others had frost forming on the edges.

Their attention was drawn back to the line of riflemen as they pulled and released the bolt handle, the spent dust casings popping out and falling into the grass.

"As you can see, fire and ice dust rounds were utilized in this demonstration. Fire rounds are the standard ammunition and is the cleanest to use, as it burns away dead Grimm in little to no time. Ice is our secondary type, capable of freezing the area surrounding the point of impact solid, allowing for any strike to shatter it on contact. We will instruct you on which rounds to use in each situation, but that will be at a later time. For the time being…" Orso explained as his eyes roved over Platoon Four once again.

"Grab yourselves a gun."

* * *

Donovan held in the urge to sigh as he stood behind his rifle. He had expected that they would immediately begin shooting after they had picked their weapons. However, here he was, next to Julius, with their dismantled rifles next to the range, where there were some short, narrow tables on which they were learning how to strip their weapons for cleaning and maintenance.

 _Is this really necessary?_ Granted, maintaining a rifle was no simple task, but Donovan had learned much with the musket he had used back at home to hunt for game on the uncommon occasions that Brohn let him. He didn't consider himself a great shot, but he was confident that he could aim down the sights and fire in the general direction.

Julius, on the other hand, seemed ecstatic at the notion of being able to take something apart. Immediately after receiving an explanation on how to properly dismantle it, he was already examining the bolt handle that he had managed to separate from the gun.

"Don, take a look at this magazine system! It's leaps and bounds more efficient than the manual muzzle-loading you had to do with our old musket." Julius exclaimed. "And the grooves in the barrel! This is ingenious! It reduces drag and drastically increases the aerodynamics of the bullet!"

Donovan deadpanned as Julius looked down the barrel that was pointed at his face.

"Julius." Donovan interjected as Julius continued to spout praise for the rifle.

"Yeah?"

"Get that barrel out of your face. Orso's looking at you." And he was, eyes narrowing at what seemed to be a complete disregard for personal safety.

Julius chuckled uneasily and set the barrel down, quickly re-assembling his rifle back together before it could be taken away by the irate sergeant. After one last glare, Orso looked at the rest of the platoon.

"Now that you have learned the fundamentals of rifle maintenance, it would be in your best interest to not lose it. Not only will you be properly reprimanded for losing military-grade weaponry, there may also come a day where losing your rifle will cost you your life when you are overrun by Grimm. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good."

* * *

"Corporal Damascus, reporting in, sir!" Connor began with a salute, to which Lieutenant Antiga, the right hand of Braxis, returned with his own behind the desk. His sandy hair was cropped and his visage slightly less rugged than Orso's.

Connor came at the end of the day to deliver his report, after training had been complete and dinner had been eaten. Antiga's office was next to Orso's, and was furnished the same way. However, there were a few filing cabinets on the side with files for all of the conscripts.

"At ease, corporal." he responded, and Connor clasped his hands behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart.

"So how has the training been so far?"

"As well as I can assume, sir. Barring incident with Stenson and Fenwick, everything has been orderly. There has yet to be any voices of dissent among Platoon Four, but I believe they are still in the initial stages of acclimating to this new environment. That being said, it seems that they are taking it all in stride very well."

"I see. It seems Sergeant Orso knows what he's doing." Antiga chuckled.

"He does indeed, sir. Although with all due respect, I wonder why he chose to begin with rifle training. When I began basic training, we started with melee drills, specifically defensive shield formations." Connor said.

"Your concern is noted. When you were completing your basic training, time was a luxury that you enjoyed. Three years, in fact. For this conscription, we are given only a year to turn ordinary civilians into soldiers of the same caliber of Mantle's. As such, an unanimous decision was agreed upon to accelerate that process by providing the most effective means of combating the Grimm first. Namely, rifle training." Noting Connor's slightly concerned face, Antiga continued.

"Do not worry about it too much. We will indeed cover the fundamentals of melee combat in time. It would be in our best interests to instruct them on what to do should their rifles fail them some day. Braxis has outlined a plan for this process, and should it work, it will set the standard for future military training endeavors."

"If I may ask, sir. Where is Captain Braxis? He is not in his office at the moment, and I assumed I would be reporting to him."

"He has taken an early leave tonight. He has been feeling somewhat under the weather as of late."

"Is he alright, sir?" Connor asked.

"That is not something for you to worry about. If he was not alright, we would have acted on it already."

Connor, knowing that he had overstepped his bounds, kept silent.

"Do you have any anything else to report before we conclude this meeting, corporal?" he asked.

"No, sir, that's-" A thought crossed his mind. "Actually, one more thing, sir."

"Oh?" Antiga asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's regarding Private Julius Arc and Private Donovan Winchester, sir."

"Are there any problems with them?"

"No, sir. It's just seems that they're quite familiar with one another, even prior to them arriving at the outpost. I assume they're not related, and yet they are able to act and speak together fluidly. I feel that not even close friends can have that level of coordination."

"Arc and Winchester, huh?" Antiga pondered for a moment, before going over to the filing cabinets to the side of the office. He opened them and promptly pulled out their files. After reading through them for a minute, he nodded.

"You are right to an extent, corporal. It says here that Julius Arc has been living with the Winchesters for most of his life."

"If I may ask, sir. Why? Did something happen to his parents?"

"Says here that his mother died during childbirth. His father, Jacob Arc, was a border guard who perished in the line of duty when Julius was seven years old. He was taken in by the Winchesters, who run a smithing business, after the incident, and it's been fourteen years since then."

"So it was a combination of them living and working together under the same roof, sir?" Connor ventured.

"Your guess is as good as mine, but I do believe that is the case." Antiga sighed. ''Jacob Arc, huh? Like father, like son."

"Sir?"

"Just musing out loud. Now, once again, is that all?"

"Yes, sir."

Antiga nodded.

"Dismissed."

* * *

 **A/N: Shorter chapter this week. Apologies. First round of midterms coming up. As I write this A/N, my Calculus midterm is in 20 minutes. Some more plot development in terms of them actually becoming soldiers, as well as Connor learning more about Julius and Donovan. At the moment, I plan to alternate between Zahrati and Julius & Co. every other chapter.**

 **As always, reviews and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9:** Rumblings

 _Dear Alssalf,_

 _I guess I owe you an apology. The events leading to my current stay in Yusif were unexpected, and I hope you can forgive me if I have worried you. I am well for the time being. Just a few scratches here and there, nothing serious. If anything, I'll need to restock on burn dust after using most of it against the Deathstalker. Nusar will probably tell you about it. And for the events afterwards, he will probably tell you about it as well. I hope you can understand why I did what I had to do._

 _For now, I will stay in Yusif. First to ensure that the bandits that caused this incident do not come and repeat their wrongdoings. The other reason would be to see if there's anything new happening in this area, see if there is somethings that may be of interest for Nusar and his men. Knowing him, he's always on the lookout for new requests and bounties._

 _I'll wrap things up now. I have a meeting with the Haziq, Yusif's elder leader, soon. Hopefully he won't ask too much of me. There is only so much I can do by myself._

 _With Love,_

 _Zahrati_

She set her quill down and leaned back in her seat with a sigh and looked out towards the horizon from her window. Her room was simple and sparsely furnished. After all, that was to be expected when one was living in a room within Yusif's lone inn.

It had only been a few hours since the sun had risen, and she already felt exhausted. Most of the time was spent in the early hours of the morning, keeping a vigilant watch around the settlement's borders for any signs of any opportunistic or vengeful bandits. Not that there was much to watch. The settlement was surrounded by a low wall, only twice her height. It did well enough to keep the Grimm out, but it was child's play for anyone with a decent aim and a set of grappling hooks.

A knock on the door grabbed her attention.

"Yes?" she said.

The door opened slightly, and the innkeeper, a stouter fellow with a mop of unruly black hair, poked his head in to deliver a message.

" _Zaeim_ Haziq is here to speak with you again," he informed her.

"Alright. I'll be there shortly." Zahrati responded, and he closed the door quietly.

She looked over the letter once more for any errors or still-drying ink. Satisfied, she folded it and put it into a papyrus envelope, which she then sealed with some twine and stashed it away in her robe. She then left her room and headed towards the front of the inn. She passed through the curtain, and spotted him sitting at one of the small dining tables.

" _Salaam_ , _Zaeim_ Haziq," she greeted as she took a seat across from him. He wore a turban over his grey hair, and his full beard was decently maintained.

" _Salaam_ ," he replied with a wave of his hand. "How has living here been for you?"

"More than I could ask for. I can not thank you enough for allowing me to stay here free of charge."

"Nonsense." Haziq shook his head. "It should be me saying that. You have done us a great service, which is more than we can ever hope to compensate you for."

"I was only doing what I had to. Things like that require no reward," she tried to explain.

"Regardless, what you did saved many families. The night raid was so sudden, coupled with the unfortunate fact that we never had the time or experience to raise a defensive force, meant that they were gone with our people before we knew it."

"Is it the first time that something like this has happened?"

"Indeed. As you know, Yusif is a relatively new settlement, only a few years old." Haziq shifted in his seat for a moment of thought. "I'm surprised there haven't been any attacks earlier, but when it did, we were wholly unprepared. That is why we are truly grateful for your assistance."

"It's the least I can do," she reassured.

The innkeeper stepped in during the lull in the conversation, placing two plates of food and two cups of water for both. Thanking him, they began to eat.

"I know that this may be sudden of me, _Sayidati_ Nahlah, but what was it that pushed you to help us? The desert is an unforgiving and selfish place, and more often it takes a kind gesture and leaves you with nothing."

Zahrati remained silent as she chewed, and it stretched for a while.

"Forgive me for prying. If you do not wish to tell me, I will respect your intentions. I apologize for my brashness."

"It is alright, _Zaeim_ Haziq. It's just that…" she paused, considering what words to say next. "You could say that the matter is… personal."

Haziq nodded slowly.

"I will not presume to know what happened then, but that enough is more than I can ask of you," he said. Taking a sip and clearing his throat, he wisely changed the topic.

"I know that you can not stay here forever, but I will ask you this. How long will you stay here?" he asked, setting his cup down. " Not that we want you to leave. Rather, I am afraid that the bandits may come once again after you have left us, and we may as well be as powerless as before. If that time does come, the winds of fortune may not guide you to us again."

"Eventually, I will return to Nazef, where my _alssalf_ lives. It's also where I usually take requests and bounties with a group of people and their leader, Nusar. For the time being, however, I will remain here, so do not worry."

As she said it, an idea began to formulate in her head.

" _Zaeim_ Haziq," she began, leaning forward on the table, "I have a proposal regarding this situation, and I think it may benefit us both."

"Oh? I am quite curious to know what you have to offer," he responded with a raised eyebrow.

"You mentioned that you did not have the time or experience to raise a defensive force?"

"Correct."

"How about your money and resources?"

"We have plenty enough to get by. Why do you ask?"

"If payment is not an issue, how about I have Nusar and some of his men come over and train your men, if they are willing? We had just returned from a previous Grimm bounty, so we were already looking for another job already."

"Would that be possible?"

"In a basic sense, we are no more than mercenaries. As long as you can pay, we will provide our services."

Noting the hesitant look on Haziq's face, Zahrati continued.

"Please understand, _Zaeim_ Haziq. I am not offering this as merely a business venture. I truly do want to help Yusif move on from this incident."

It was now Haziq's turn to be silent in consideration, and she waited with baited breath.

"I assure you that Nusar will be able to train them well. They are more than capable of putting down bandits with their current experience. In time, so can your men."

Haziq hummed in thought, his hand stroking his beard.

"Very well. I do believe that you have good intentions. If anything, I owe my people a safe future as much as we owe you, so it would be remiss of me to turn down this opportunity, especially when we currently have no use for our extra funds." he sighed with a smile, then raised his cup.

" _Fe Sahatek._ " _Cheers._

" _Fe Sahatek_." She replied, meeting his cup with her own.

She had another letter to write.

* * *

"Training request?" Nusar muttered to himself. "What did you get yourself into now, Zahrati?"

WIth a huff, he stuffed the envelope back into his clothing. He'd have to contact his men later. Aside from a somewhat average pay, free lodging and sustenance were also included, courtesy of the people of Yusif in return for training their men in combat. It was usually an offer he would pass on, given that he and his men were self-sufficient enough to not have to rely on food and shelter provided by others. However, knowing that it was a personal request from Zahrati, he decided to take the offer.

 _She won't hear the end of this from Osman_. He chuckled to himself darkly.

But that would be dealt with later. For now, his current task lay before him. In the center of Nazef was the sultan's royal estate, large enough to hold its own bazaar, governing buildings, and the royal palace.

The sultan was considerate enough to allow his citizens open access to the estate and the bazaar, with all of the gates opened during the day to let trade to flow. Almost as many people went to and fro from the governing buildings, having their own business to conduct. Only the palace itself seemed to be free of the teeming masses, with guards posted around the inner gates and walls of the palace to keep His Highness, the sultan, safe.

Nusar's business lay in one of the governing buildings. He strode over to the entrance and entered, looking for a certain individual. The bustle of people around him parted as they glimpsed his milky eye and his fierce-looking visage, eager to return to work.

"Nusar?" A man approached him. He was somewhat shorter, and aside from the official-looking robes, a more relaxed face, and a lack of a scarred eye, he looked quite similar to his brother.

"Maysan." Nusar nodded once and said nothing else. It had been a while since he had spoken to his brother, and although he would never admit it, Nusar found it difficult to say anything.

"It has been a while!" Maysan exclaimed, even if it seemed a bit forced. "Come, come. Let us take a walk in the bazaar."

They did so, wandering the rows of peddlers and merchant selling their goods and wares. Even though he had lived in Nazef for his entire life, Nusar still always felt himself be swept away by the liveliness and vibrancy of the bazaars. Goods and talk flowed under the blue desert sky like water, and there was always something to buy and prices to be haggled. From common wares and goods to the most exotic finds from lands afar, there was always a right customer for it.

"Takes you back, doesn't it?" Maysan interjected.

"It does," Nusar agreed.

They went over to a food stall, where they purchased curried meats and flatbreads as accompaniment. They took a seat nearby, well enough away from interrupting any business.

"So what have you come here for?" Maysan began, quickly digging into his impromptu meal.

"Nothing much. It is wrong to come visit you once in awhile?"

"Nusar." Maysan rolled his eyes. "We both know that you are more practical than that." To which Nusar sighed.

"After coming back from the bounty, I visited Osman," Nusar offered.

"Now that explains a lot. He was always quite keen on the importance of family."

"That he is, especially when it comes to Zahrati."

"Ah, yes. How has she been?" Maysan questioned.

"Long story short, she immediately went on a personal request after we killed the Deathstalker."

"I see. Quite the industrious one, isn't she? I believe she can handle herself just fine." Maysan remarked as he finished his food.

"Now, Nusar, I assume there's another reason you have visited?"

"Yes. During my visit to Osman's, he said that you told him about the kingdom of Mantle opening contact with us." Nusar responded, who was only about half done with his food.

Maysan took a moment to collect his thoughts, gazing over to a stall that offered a variety of powdered spices. Business was well, and the woman in charge of it managed to verbally haggle and juggle multiple customers.

"It could be something, or it may be nothing at all. I told Osman exactly what he told you. I personally do not think it is something that we have to worry about. From an economic standpoint, we have everything to gain and nothing to lose by re-establishing trade."

"But — "

"However," Maysan raised a finger, "I have never been one to doubt Osman's wisdom. Why? Because it has yet to lead me astray. That is why we are exercising caution in this matter, which seems to be more and more of a power maneuver."

"Power maneuver?"

"There have been developments since I spoke to Osman. Although the sentiment is present, it seems that there are hidden thorns within the trade agreement. There are now talks of tariffs, commercial interests, and transportation costs, to name a few."

"And?"

"Initially, it looked good at a glance, but in reality we now stand to cede much of our trading power if we are to abide by their conditions."

"Are you certain of this?"

"There aren't many other outcomes that can occur given our current conditions. The sultan has been informed about this, which is why, like I said before, we are exercising caution."

Nusar leaned back in his seat, the remainder of his food forgotten. An attempt at power, under the appearance of a mutually beneficial agreement?

It seemed Osman was right after all.

* * *

 _She was in the kitchen, working with the others to prepare a meal for their master. They were older than her, but she worked as hard as they did. Not that they willingly chose to. Rather, they did so out of fear, fear of their master's wrath were he to find the meal unsatisfactory._

 _There was not much they could do given their situation. They were kidnapped, as many slaves were, and sold to whoever had the deepest pockets. Whether they served as attendants, laborers, or other unsavory roles, the life of a slave was never an easy one. And so, it was Zahrati's task to slice the vegetables that day, which was no easy task for someone of her age._

 _A commotion occurred at the kitchen entrance as the master's son appeared. He was a young one, slightly older than Zahrati with shoulder length black hair, and only just beginning his physical and mental transition into manhood. The slaves quieted and kept their heads down as they worked. However, he was not here for them. He strode over to Zahrati and stood there._

" _What will you be making for us?" he asked with a tone of curiosity, but she knew it was anything but. Thus, she chose to remain silent as she continued to work._

" _It is impolite to ignore someone when they are speaking to you," He snarled, grabbing Zahrati by the wrist._

" _Look at me, slave."_

 _She kept her eyes cast downwards, not wanting to meet his gaze. He had visited her many times before. She did not understand why he held such an interest over her._

" _You are not like the others. They are old and dull. But you, you will serve me."_

 _She shook her head and attempted to pull away from his grip, all while refusing to meet him in the eye. He was just like his father, arrogant and cruel._

 _He did not like it, and let Zahrati know with a sharp slap to her face. She fell down to the floor, surprise and fear in her eyes._

" _You dare defy me?" He whispered, approaching her. She scrambled backwards until her back was to the kitchen wall._

 _His pace quickened, ready to deal out the punishment that he thought she so aptly deserved. He grabbed her wrist again, but he was not aware of the knife._

 _A spray of blood matted the floor. He screamed as he recoiled and stared, bewildered, at the kitchen knife that had gone through his arm, sharp enough to gore through bone._

 _She stood there, in shock of what she had instinctively done. Voices were heard shouting from the other rooms, and she found herself violently dragged away by unknown hands._

 _The beating was fierce, far more than she had ever experienced before. Her world became one of blackness and pain, and her awareness of the reality around her became hazy and incoherent._

 _She was treated no better after having been sold. Her former master was quite keen to be rid of her, both for the "safety" of his family as well as some return profit. She walked barefoot in the scorching sand. The wounds inflicted upon her were left untreated, and they slowly began to worsen. They walked across settlements to settlements._

 _She began fading, as the sands lost their bite and the beatings worsened. The other slaves were sold, but no one wished to purchase her, one that was so malnourished and filthy. The slave traders condemned her, as they saw her as nothing more than a leech. They came quite close to leaving her to the elements. They openly said so, yet she did not care. She stopped caring a long time ago._

 _That fated day began no different than the others. They were on their way to yet another settlement, in a final attempt to profit from selling her, when they were startled by loud battle cries. In the ensuing chaos that followed, something struck her head and she blissfully returned to the darkness._

 _When she came to, she looked up and saw him. His face was tanned and his hair graying, yet she was indifferent to the hazy concern etched onto his face or the lap that her head rested on. The man next standing to him had a milky eye, and despite his furrowed brows and perpetual frown, he too seemed concerned. It was not until she felt clear water flowing through down her mouth did she begin to come back to reality._

" _-those fools, thinking they could take us. What did they hope to achieve when they are put against the best money can buy? "_

" _I'm more concerned as to why they thought they could get away with stealing from the sultan's nephew in the first place." She heard the person above her say. To her, his voice was calm and collected, and she took comfort in it with a relieved sigh. The small action was not above his notice._

" _Are you alright, little one?" He asked her as he began gently wiping her face down with a rag that he had dampened with some water. She responded by snuggling closer to him, her grip secured onto his leg and her eyes closing._

 _He chuckled softly and began stroking her hair. How long had it been since she had been shown such care? By all rights she should have been cautious of these new people, yet her exhaustion combined with his attention left her in a state of delirium. What had she done to deserve such comforts? If this was death, then she wondered why she hadn't sought it out earlier._

" _It's all right now. We've dealt with the bad men. You do not have to be afraid anymore."_

 _Her comfort was short-lived as she felt something dripping onto her cheek. Was he also going to wipe her face down? She opened her eyes and looked up, only for them to widen as she saw his arm streaming blood from a wound, one that seemed all too familiar. Looking past the arm, she saw that the older man was still smiling kindly. Despite this, Zahrati knew that something was wrong. Very wrong._

 _She tried to sit up from his lap, to escape, but her body became unresponsive. Her apprehension confusion only worsened as the man's smile curled into a frown, his eyes unblinking. Then his face began to warp, features melding and separating in a grotesque manner. She screamed in surprise and fear, and her efforts to escape doubled. Yet try as she might, her body still remained limp, as if resigned to its fate._

 _It was the son of her former master._

" _You will not escape from me, slave."_

 _A knife materialized in his grip, blood running down and dripping at the point. The same knife that she had used on him. She could only watch, transfixed, as his eyes pooled into red, and his face morphed once more into Grimm-like skull._

" _No matter where you run…" he whispered as he leaned closer._

" _No matter what you do…" He gazed down at her, knife poised to strike, as she desperately tried to free herself from her prone position._

" _You will not escape…" he concluded as the knife fell._

* * *

She woke with a gasp. A sheen of sweat coated her body, and her hands trembled.

 _What was that?_

It was a dream she still occasionally had, but this was a first. The dreams had always ended with her _alssalf_ cradling and comforting her under the Vacuo sun. The part with the master's son, however, was unsettlingly new.

She looked out the window, and saw that the sun was beginning to set.

 _Night watch begins soon._

Before she could dwell on the twisted development, a knock on her door interrupted her once was the innkeeper.

"Are you alright, _Sayidati_? I heard you muttering and groaning in your sleep as I passed by."

"It's fine. Just a bad dream." She said quickly, taking slow, quiet breaths to steady herself.

"I will bring some water for you." And with that, he departed, leaving Zahrati to her own thoughts.

She found herself deeply rattled by what had happened to her _alssalf_ in the dream. His face had warped and distorted into a chaotic mess, and she could do nothing but watch as her only family underwent a perverse transformation.

Knowing that it would be fruitless to try and delve any deeper, Zahrati sighed and swung her legs over the edge of her bed. She equipped her gear and adjusted them.

 _At least I won't have to do this much longer_.

It had been a week since she had sent her letters to her _alssalf_ and Nusar, and it had taken another week for their replied to return.

Osman was understandably irritated with her not returning home to Nazef, but in the end he simply hoped that she remained safe. Nusar, on the other hand, had accepted her request on behalf of Haziq, and they were scheduled to arrive six days later.

 _Only five more nights of watch._

Another knock, and she gratefully accepted the cup and pitcher of water. She poured herself a cup and drank deeply from it. Needing more, she poured again.

Mid-sip, she felt a soft rumbling from the earth. It continued for a few seconds, and then all was still. She set the cup down and quickly made her way to the front of the inn, where the innkeeper was.

"Did you feel that?" she asked. The innkeeper nodded, looking mildly surprised as he moved things back into their correct place.

"I did indeed. Nothing was damage up here at the front, but I'll have to check the rooms in the back later for any signs of damage. Don't want this place to fall over or, even worse, sink into the desert."

"No, I meant… does this happen often?" Zahrati asked. It was a foreign and unsettling sensation, and she couldn't even fathom what underground forces were at work to make something like this happen.

"Not really. In fact, I think this is the first time that something like this has happened." the innkeeper replied. "Unless it was a stronger one, I'd say we have nothing to worry about."

Zahrati was unsure about his answer, but since she lacked knowledge on this matter, she chose to put it aside. The sun had almost completely set at this point, and Zahrati left the inn and jogged over to the wall.

Climbing up one of the ladders, Zahrati inspected the area around Yusif. Nothing. Nothing but the dunes to greet her.

Sighing, Zahrati pulled her hood over her head and began her watch.

* * *

 **A/N: Delving into the past of a character is always interesting, isn't it? And we've never seen a naturally occurring earthquake on Remnant, have we? Development is slow, but steady, so I hope you all can hang on as it gradually progresses.**

 **Once again, a list of translations in case you were confused.**

 _ **Sayidati-Miss/Madam**_

 _ **Zaeim-Leader/Elder**_

 _ **Alssalf-Grandfather**_

 _ **Fe Sahatek-"Cheers"**_

 **As always, reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10** : Uncertainty

* * *

 _Imperial Palace_

 _Mistral, Capital of Anima_

 _Three months prior to Halitus Conscription_

"Again."

The combatants in the circular arena readied themselves once again. The one in full bronze body armor held his staff in a forward guard stance, while the other stood and brushed the sand from his simple training attire.

"Fight."

The systematic sound of wood striking wood echoed across the arena as the two fought anew. It was short-lived, and once again the second combatant found himself lying in the sand, this time with an angry welt under his jaw.

"Again."

He sighed, using his staff to prop himself up. Rubbing his jaw, he begrudgingly matched his opponent's stance again. Not that it was an easy task, given that his armored opponent easily had over two feet of height and reach on him.

This went on for another two hours, and light wounds gradually blossomed across his body. Some on his hands and wrists, others on his legs and torso, and many more across his face. The man issuing the commands on a covered dais at the side of the arena remained impassive throughout the ordeal, hands clasped behind his back underneath a white cape. He remained so until an attendant came over.

"My lord, His Majesty the Emperor requests your audience." she stated with her head bowed, wincing slightly as one of the combatants found himself in the sand once again.

"Is that so?" he mused. "Very well. I will be there shortly." He dismissed the attendant with a wave of his hand.

The attendant bowed her head once again and left the arena.

"Cease!" he called out. The one in armor turned to face him and bowed, also taking his leave from the arena. The other combatant remained on the ground, taking slow, recovering breaths and letting the late morning sun shine down upon him. At least, until he found himself abruptly picked up and slung over the shoulder.

"Hey, cut it out!" he cried as he beat a fist against the offender's back. Said offender only chuckled, only stopping to place his victim in one of the seats on the the ground-level stands.

"You did well enough today, Hektor," he stated with a small grin.

"If getting beaten to the ground was 'well enough', I don't want to know what 'bad' is, father."

"Nonsense. You hail from a line of warriors since the dawn of humanity. Not only that, you have your mother's hair, which means you have her intellect and wit. Give it some time, and it will come to you naturally," he laughed, ruffling the boy's dark brown hair, earning an eye roll from the youth. His father, on the other hand, had vibrant red hair, an uncommon sight in Mistral.

"That being said, you must always remember to take these experiences and _learn_ from them." he joked, tapping the boy's head. "Don't let this going to waste."

"I know. You always tell me that," Hektor retorted. The saying had essentially been beaten into him like his bruises. Swords, spears, staves, knives, clubs. All of which ended with the same message. _Learn_.

"And for a good reason," his father answered. "It may seem pointless now, but it is how we have trained ourselves for many generations."

That much was irrefutable. The few times that Hektor had seen his father spar were sights to behold. He made it seem so effortless, and it was him that inspired Hektor to endure the harsh lessons and achieve that level of skill.

"Are you busy today?" Hektor asked. His father was a busy man, but he always tried to spend time with him and his family. Whether it be dinner with mother and his sisters or playing hide-and-seek around the palace, any time spent with his father was time well spent.

"Unfortunately, yes. Your grandfather wishes to speak with me," he replied, looking forward aimlessly towards the center of the arena.

Noting Hektor's eyes cast downwards, his father quickly assuaged him.

"It shouldn't be anything too serious, Hektor. I'll be done before you know it."

"Promise?" Hektor asked. He knew that he shouldn't meddle in his father's affairs, but he still wanted to spend more time with him.

"Promise." His father replied, punching him lightly on the shoulder. That earned a chuckle from Hektor.

"Go on, I'll bet your mother is going to worry about your new battle scars."

Hektor groaned at the prospect of being smothered in worry by his mother, but he begrudgingly acquiesced.

Now that he was the only one left in the arena, he rose from his own seat, pondering what it was that he was needed for.

* * *

The throne room was constructed in a way that immediately drew a person's gaze to the end of the room. Columns and rows of pillars ran across the room, with the exception being the middle, where a long red carpet stretched from the door to the throne. These pillars were not meant to just support the ceiling, but also to prevent vision of the sides of the room, creating an aura of mystique.

"You called, Your Majesty?" He asked with his head bowed and his leg kneeled, his cape spread out behind him

"Rise, Athenion." A deep voice commanded.

He complied, and his head rose to meet the figure sitting on the throne. Dressed in golden colored robes with streaks of crimson, the only color that seemed out of place in the room was the stark gray of the emperor's hair and beard.

"We will be having guests from our sister country," he stated.

"Mantle?"

"Yes." the emperor responded. "They come bearing important news of grave importance. As such, I want you to be in charge of meeting them."

This made Athenion pause. Why delegate such important international affairs to him?

"Are you certain, Your Majesty?" He questioned

"Indeed. I will not be the emperor forever," he sighed, "and so it is of utmost importance that you are ready when your time comes... my son."

Athenion bowed his head once again.

"It will be done, Your Majesty."

He strode down the halls of the palace, contemplating the truth of what his father had told him. It was inevitable, yes, that time would eventually claim the life of his father, yet it was not a notion that he had ever had to dwell deeply upon. Under the rule of Pericles the Second, Mistral enjoyed a continual period of peace and progress. From security against the Grimm to technological advances like prototype propeller ships, courtesy of Mantle, the emperor was well-received by the populace, even if he did come off as somewhat aloof.

Mantle and Mistral had always been close-knit as kingdoms, there was no doubt about that. Mantle required the abundant raw materials that came from the fertile lands of Mistral, and Mistral would not be where it was today were it not for available access to Mantle's latest technology and innovations.

The guest rose from his seat when Athenion opened the doors of the guest room. Said guest was slightly younger than his father, yet he too bore an air of authority and wisdom. His sharp uniform was decorated with awards and accolades, marking him as a man of experience and leadership.

"Henry Helms, General of Mantle's armies," he introduced himself, offering his gloved hand. "Pleasure to meet you.."

"The pleasure is mine," Athenion replied, returning the handshake firmly. "Athenion Nikos."

His emerald eyes met the general's stern ones. From the general's grip to the strain around his eyes, Athenion knew that the news would not be pleasant. However, it was not his place to inquire just yet, so he simply smiled and continued the pleasantries as a good host should, if only for a little bit longer.

"Crown Prince of Mistral."

* * *

 _Halitus Outpost_

 _Two months after conscription_

The black shapes rushed towards the infantry at an almost inhuman speed. Julius grit his teeth as he released the safety of his rifle, leveling it towards the incoming mass. Likewise, Donovan, Connor, and the rest of the platoon did the same, creating a lethal firing line.

"Fire!"

Continuous cracks rang in the air as rounds flew through towards the dark mass, some of which ripped clean through and began to burn. Yet many more missed, flying past the dummies and causing explosions of fire and ice in the clearing behind the range.

"Clear!"

He sighed as he flicked the safety of his gun back on and watched as the dummies receded. They were supposed to resemble Grimm, and they were placed upon the rudimentary track system that allowed them to rush from the end of the range up to where the soldiers were.

 _I guess we can call ourselves soldiers now, right?_

"Three of five," Donovan stated, counting the number of rounds that made contact as the dummies gradually withdrew back to the end of the range.

"Two of five," Julius replied.

"And that makes it nine to six in my favor." Donovan snickered quietly as he briefly inspected his own rifle for any scuffs. The rifles were indeed very well made, but it never hurt to be careful after firing it over the span of fifteen cartridges.

"Oh shut up. You know I don't have a knack for this compared to you." Julius sighed, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, the leather strap wrapping snugly onto him.

"Never said you did. Still, you'll probably want to work on it. Might save your life one day."

"Indeed it will," Julius said dryly. "Come on. Let's put our rifles away and get some lunch. I'm starving."

After half an hour, the two found themselves in the mess hall. Among the masses of soldiers from different platoons enjoying lunch, they spotted Connor sitting by himself at the end of one of the tables.

"If looks could kill." Donovan whispered to Julius as he noted Connor's darkened visage. It seemed that everyone else had noticed, hence no one approaching his area. They made their way over to him and set their trays down, and he looked at the two.

"Yes?" Connor jabbed sharply.

"Easy there, Connor. What happened, fly got into your food?" Donovan joked, earning a dull glare from him.

Sighing, Connor relaxed a bit. He was still unfamiliar with acting as a "civilian", but fortunately he was always quick enough on the uptake to explain away any potential suspicions.

"No. It's just that I didn't do so well earlier at the range."

"Not surprised. It's never as easy as it looks. Speaking of which, how many rounds did you land in the last three rounds? The ones that we were inspected on?" Donovan asked as he began eating.

"Pardon?"

"That last three rounds, just before we broke for lunch. Julius here landed seven of fifteen." A groan from the side. "Nine of fifteen for me."

Connor gave him a look, and Donovan could not discern what the emotion was. Confusion? Concern? Pity?

"Fourteen out of fifteen." He stated flatly. An audible thump could be heard as Julius' head, which had hung low towards his food, planted itself onto the table. Likewise, the spoon headed towards Donovan's mouth froze.

"What? How is that 'not doing well'?" Donovan asked incredulously as he set his utensil down.

"I didn't land all of them. And the ones I did land were mostly body shots."

"Is there a difference where you shoot them?"

"Yeah. A round to the head puts down most Grimm if you can somehow get around or through their face plates." Connor stated, before catching himself again. "At least, that's what my dad told me."

"Huh." Donovan digested the new information. "Your dad a soldier turned farmer or something?"

"Uh… he heard it from another friend who was one. A soldier, I mean."

Nodding, Donovan tapped Julius shoulder.

"You hear that? _That_ might actually save your life."

"If I could actually land any shots." Julius chuckled darkly, lifting his head from the table.

"It's a matter of aiming, I'd recommend you keep the sight down," Connor suggested. By no means was rifle training a competition, and as much as he wanted to chastise Donovan for making it one, helping Julius improve took precedence.

"What? Why? I assume the sight is there to help you?"

"I tested it pretty early on when we got our rifles, and I find that it actually throws off your aim. Besides, when Sergeant Orso went over it, he never said using it was mandatory. If anything, just follow the small tick down the barrel when the sight is down." he explained succinctly.

"I see." Julius said. "I guess I'll have to try that out next time. Thanks."

"Happy to help."

They remained like that for a few moments, silence lingering in the air. Neither party knew what to say afterwards.

"Uh anyways. Connor." Donovan began.

"Yes?"

"You want to come with us to Halitus later? We're going to go pick up some things in town."

Connor could have easily made an excuse as to why he couldn't go. Why spend time with them anyways when he could be making another report to Antiga or Braxis? Brushing up on his rifle skills, which had degraded slightly? Why invest time with people he didn't even really know that well?

 _But that's the point, isn't it? To get to know them better, and by doing so, being able to influence them better._

"If you want," Julius interjected, "you can bring the other person, uh, Finnegan, too. Or you know, you don't have to go. Totally up to you." To which Donovan nodded.

Connor blinked at the consideration the two were showing him. And as he thought about it, he realized that he had never actually been to Halitus, barring the time when he and the company were passing through towards the outpost. It was enough to pique his interest.

"Actually, I think I'll join you. It would be nice to explore the town," he said as he stood, having finished his meal first.

"I'll be at the main outpost gate in half an hour."

* * *

The journey to Halitus was uneventful, and the three found themselves at the town gates.

To say that the town was quaint was an understatement. If anything, it was quite expansive and well-developed for a town, nearly bordering the size of a proper city. Thus, the roads were wide and paved, and there was much bustling and activity as people got on with their lives. In the center was a town hall, overlooking the other buildings.

Julius pointed at a tavern next to the town hall. A large sign hung over the door, establishing it as the _Fool's Gambit_.

"This looks like a nice place." Donovan noted.

"We'll come here afterwards."Julius agreed.

Connor followed the two as they made their way to what looked like a metals shop, where they purchased a few coils of wire, some small metal metal, and a handful of nails. Soon after, they were walking out of a wood shop with some small bricks of wood.

"What do you need all those parts for?" Connor asked as they walked down the street. He could not make head or tails of what these parts were for.

"Oh, these? Uh, it's a little thing I'm working on," Julius laughed hastily.

"Little. Do you see how much you've bought?

Julius looked down at the metals and wood in his arms, and to the coils of wire that Donovan had on his shoulder.

"Uh, I guess it's not so little then?"

'What on Remnant do you need this for?"

Before he answered the question, they found themselves at the front of a dust shop. If Connor thought he was confused, this only served to worsen it.

"Dust as well?"

Julius turned to face him as Donovan went around examining the types of available dust. He furtively glanced left and right, as if afraid of someone eavesdropping.

"Basically how this works is by using the wires to transmit electrical signals from one person to another."

"For communication?"

"Yeah. Think about it. We don't have radios because the towers that send and receive signals can be easily toppled by a Nevermore. The idea I have in mind might just solve that problem. Although now that I have the parts, actually finding the time and space to work on it may be troublesome. There's probably some rule that doesn't allow me to work on it in the outpost," Julius lamented.

There indeed was one, which Connor instinctively began reciting in his head.

 _Article Nine, Section Two: The development of technologies prior to superior approval is strictly prohibited on military premises (see Article One, Section Eight) during training under service. In the case of transgression,-_

"I guess I'll have to bring it back here and see if any of the smiths or craftsmen will give me a space to work with."

So much for transgressing Article Nine, Section Two.

"Do you do this often?" Connor asked. "Tinkering, I mean."

"Connor." Julius fixed a flat stare at him. " _Inventing_ "

He wanted to inquire further, but Donovan called them over. The three found themselves down the counter at yellow-colored crystal dust, which jogged Connor's memory.

"Lightning dust," He muttered to himself. Granted, these were an assortment of clean-cut crystals alongside jagged, raw nodes. Despite their different forms, lightning dust always exhibited a voltaic yellow glow.

"Yep," Donovan answered. Directing his attention up to the shopkeep, "We'll take four cut lightning crystals."

The shopkeeper nodded, putting them carefully into four separate vials. After having paid the appropriate amount of lien, they made their way out.

"With that done," Donovan declared, "it's off to the Gambit."

* * *

The tavern itself was simple enough, with many tables to accommodate people looking for drink at the end of the day. Fortunately, it was only early afternoon, so there were only a few patrons.

A server came up to them with an enthusiastic expression, no doubt happy about being productive compared to just languishing at the counter.

"What'll it be, gentlemen?"

"Maple ale for me please," Donovan started.

"I'll have some cider," Julius followed.

"Water for me, please," Connor concluded.

"Alright. I will be back shortly," the server said, and left the three to themselves.

"Really? Water?" Donovan asked, jaw slightly agape.

"What? Is there something wrong with what I ordered?"

 _Article Three, Section Fourteen: It is your duty as a soldier to make responsible decisions regarding alcohol use, not only for personal health, but als_ o for —

"There is. We're going to have to work on it some time. Still though, we're only having a drink or two before we head back. It's not like we're going to get ourselves drunk," Julius said.

To which the server returned with a mug of ale, cider, and water.

"One more maple ale, please," Donovan added, and the server nodded.

Shortly thereafter, Connor found himself looking at a mug of said ale. It had a rich amber color to it and a pleasant, syrupy smell. Taking a swig, he found that it wasn't overly sweet, with the bitterness of alcohol keeping the sugar in control.

"It's.. good."

"See?" Donovan laughed. "And you're pretty lucky too. Once winter comes around, there won't be any of this left."

"What?"

"It's seasonal, so you'd better enjoy it while you can."

Surprised at how fast he had gone through the first mug, he sheepishly glanced down at it.

 _Article Three, Section Fourte-_

"Another round of maple ales for us please!" Donovan called out.

Connor sighed. He didn't expect himself to be able to relax like this, not when he knew, in the back of his mind, what he was here to do. What the infantry company was here to do, in the face of the apparent rising threat of the Grimm. And yet, he was grateful, if only a little, that he could still enjoy himself and the company of others in an uncertain time.

* * *

 **A/N: Got this sucker out right after I finished a midterm. Calculus continues to be the bane of my existence, but that's for another time. Another character introduced, who may or may not play a role in the future events to come. The part with Connor, Donovan, and Julius was an attempt to flesh them out more as characters. It's somewhat harder with Donovan and Julius, since they always seem to be together, but I will find a way eventually. Aside from that, I'm still working on pacing my writing and getting to a benchmark of 5k words per chapter.**

 **As for the throne room, it's supposed to be something similar to Ozai's throne room from Avatar: The Last Airbender.**

 **Any questions, comments, or constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11:** Swish Swish Stab

* * *

 _Dear Mom & Dad,_

 _Hope you two are doing well. It's probably much more difficult to run the forge now that Julius and I are gone. Hopefully you two aren't working yourselves too hard; it's not like we're hurting for money or anything._

 _Anyways, we're doing fine for the time being. Training as a soldier is difficult, without a doubt, but I think we're slowly getting the hang of it. Rifle training has been progressing steadily, although Julius remains behind me in terms of shot placement and accuracy. Furthermore, we've begun combat training with a sword and shield. Everyone in the platoon is spread out in a training field, where there are rows of training dummies for us to use. On that front, I'd say Julius is only slightly better. He'd probably be much better if he wasn't still "tinkering". Yes, even here at the outpost, he'll have a small bag of parts that he works on his bunk at the end of the day, just before lights out. He thinks he's onto something, something about enabling long distance instantaneous communication. To be honest, I don't think I'll ever understand what goes on in his head. He may as well be mad and soon I'll find him in a ditch claiming to have made contact with mole people. Now that I think about, I should probably keep an eye on him, in case that actually happens..._

 _Now that you've finished listening to Donovan ramble on about things he doesn't have any appreciation for, let me make some corrections. Before that though, I do agree with Donovan about you and dad. Last thing we need to worry about you two running into problems, so take it easy, alright? You both deserve a break from us and our shenanigans._

 _Onto Donovan's comment about me "tinkering". Once again, it is inventing! I don't see what's so difficult about differentiating about the two. And for what I'm working on now, I have a pretty good feeling I'm on the verge of a breakthrough in communications. Just think! What if I could send you a message in a matter of seconds, as opposed to writing a letter and having it sent! And the concept is so simple, too! You basically take a metal conductor, some lightning dust crystals, and a length of wire, and you can instantly transmit messages to another contraption of the same make with a series of dots and dashes! Not only that, but if —_

 _Donovan is telling me that we're about to be late for today's combat training, so I'll stop for now. But mark my words, I really do believe this might become something big._

 _With Love,_

 _Donovan and Julius_

 _P.S. I think we may have gotten Connor hooked onto the Maple Ale. Fortunately, his self-imposed discipline and the end of the ale season means he can't drink much of it._

Elena chuckled lightly as she entered the forge with a glass of water and the letter in hand, the incoming blast of hot air not affecting her in the slightest. Things like that tended to happen when one such as Elena found herself married to a blacksmith for over twenty years.

"Thanks." Brohn took the offered glass, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead as well. Business was steady as usual, and it was up to the head of the family to keep it running.

"It seems they're doing well enough for the time being," Elena remarked, handing the letter over to Brohn. He skimmed it briefly and returned it to her with a grunt, saying nothing as he returned to examining the metals that were sitting in the forge, waiting to be smithed.

"They have each other to look out for, Brohn. They'll be fine," she smiled. Frankly, Brohn was quite bad when it came to concealing his emotions, at least, when it came to his wife. She turned him around and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I wonder what they're doing now?" she mused out loud, to which he answered with a small shrug and another grunt.

* * *

Julius exhaled as he lowered his training shield. It was solid wood, just like the sword in his other hand, and using it for hours on end left him fatigued. It certainly didn't help that they were disproportionately heavy.

"Ready!"

Donovan grimaced next to Julius' side as he too prepared for the next set of commands.

"Guard!"

They bent their knees slightly, legs just beyond shoulder-width, with their shields held high up to the cheekbone, and swords raised over their shoulders, primed for a lethal downswing.

"Form one!"

As one, the platoon began to execute a series of attacks on their respective dummies, which were made of sacks of hay attached to a wooden stake. Form one, as it were, was composed of quick, directional sweeps, meant to incapacitate Grimm through lacerations and dismemberment. The tall wooden stakes shook as the swords made contact with multiple parts of its length, with strands of hay flying out of the sacks as they were cut.

"Guard!"

The platoon returned to said stance, shield coming back to the cheekbone and sword over the shoulder, keeping somewhat low to cover as much of their body as much as possible, but not low enough to inhibit a rapid transition into the forms.

"Form two!"

It was much simpler, consisting of an aggressive shield bash to disorient, leading into either a broad slash or a sharp thrust, with the intent to secure the kill if executed properly. Many of the dummies swung backwards, only to be slashed to the side or halted by the point of a wooden sword.

"Guard!"

As they drilled, several of the soldiers weaved through them, correcting flawed stances and critiquing improper forms with brutal thoroughness. Donovan had been one of those unfortunate victims, and so too was Julius after he let out an audible snicker.

"Form Three!"

This, for many, was a difficult one. They were to kneel close to the ground with their shields covering their body completely. The purpose of this form was to use the momentum of a charging Grimm against them. Mostly as one, the platoon threw their shields upwards, an imaginary Grimm being flipped over their heads. From there, one could return to the first two forms if needed. However, with the lack of Grimm, this form felt awkward and clumsy. It showed, as well, as some of the members of the platoon stumbled backwards into a sitting position.

"Guard!"

This went on for hours more, the monotony of the drills boring into everyone's minds.

* * *

Donovan groaned gratefully as he stretched out his strained arms, popping joints and shaking them out.

"I thought it was just going to be 'swish swish stab'? What's so hard to understand about that?

"Donovan, I don't think that's - there we go - all there is to it though." Julius responded as he popped a particularly stubborn shoulder, rolling it a few more times for good measure.

"Why does it have to be so formal? I thought we were fighting the Grimm? All we have to do is kill them, right?"

"Not necessarily," a voice corrected from behind them.

"Corporal Byrnes, sir!" Donovan stammered. "Uh, I didn't mean to — "

"Your concern is well noted, Private Winchester. In response to that, let me ask you this. How many Grimm do you expect to face in a single engagement?" Finnegan questioned.

"I'm not sure, sir," he answered after some pondering.

"In a sense, that is an acceptable answer." Noting the confused looks, he continued, "Assuming you do not know how many Grimm you must face, you only have your training and your fellow soldiers to rely upon."

"This is where economy of motion comes into play. By learning the forms properly, you minimize the amount of energy you spend per Grimm. It may not seem like much when you face one or two Grimm, but what if it becomes five? Ten? Twenty? It may seem like a waste of time now, but that muscle memory may well help you live to see another day."

"I wonder who came up with these forms?" Julius wondered out loud.

"Generations of Mantlean soldiers who fought tooth and nail for survival," Finnegan replied. "It is important to know the forms, but once you've mastered them, you can begin using your own variants."

"So regarding Form Three — "

"You'll still have to master the upwards throw before you can experiment."

"What? Why though? It's beyond clumsy!"

"Believe it or not, it is the easiest demonstration of that form, since most of it is just getting back on your feet and throwing your shield up."

"But couldn't you say the same for pushing them sideways?"

"Reasonable, but at what point does it go from redirection to simply hitting a Grimm with your shield?"

"Does it make a difference, sir?"

"You'll find out in due time once you're all ready to do live sparring."

"And when would that be?"

"Like I said, in time, Private Winchester."

* * *

Connor made a noise between a yell and a gasp as he found himself wholly knocked onto his back.

"Again, Private Damascus." Orso commanded behind him.

"Yes, sir." He rose, readying himself once again.

Some distance in front of him, a dummy on a track receded to a stop, with two soldiers promptly clearing the area afterwards. Connor raised his shield once again, gritting his teeth as he did so.

 _Am I losing my touch?_

"Take note of Private Damascus' form." Finnegan pointed out from somewhere behind him, out of sight, to which Connor scowled. Nevertheless, he awaited the inevitable.

"Note the position of his shield, always have your eyes over the upper edge. Allows you to keep an eye on the enemy while providing you with the most coverage in these situations." Finnegan interjected his concentration once again, and Connor had a sinking suspicion that Finnegan was trying to get a rise out of him.

 _Laugh all you want, Finnegan. We'll see how smug you are when you get hit by this._

The dummy shot forward with an audible bang as a dust-covered knob of metal struck the base of the dummy platform, which had a node of fire dust. The resulting explosion sent the dummy racing towards him at an inhuman speed, with improvised wooden arms attached to simulate the claws of a Beowolf.

The dummy slammed into his shield, managing to knock the air out of his lungs as well. He backpedaled quickly while trying to push back, and managed to remain standing for a few seconds. He teetered on his heels, dangerously close to falling backwards again. The dummy then stilled, its momentum having been halted completely. Connor sighed as two of the soldiers began pushing it back to the end of the track.

 _I'm definitely losing my touch. It was never this difficult during my basic training._

"Good enough for the time being," Orso nodded. "Next!"

"Permission to speak, sir?" Connor asked, gaining Orso's attention.

"Granted. What is it?"

"Would it be alright if you had someone with more experience than us demonstrate how to do it properly, sir? For clarity, of course."

"I don't see why not," Orso said after a moment of consideration. "Corporal Byrnes, front and center."

"Yes, sir!" Finnegan did as he was ordered, walking over to where Connor was earlier.

"Private Damascus, your shield please."

Connor handed his shield over to Sergeant Orso, who handed it over to Finnegan. After strapping it onto his arm, Finnegan stood at the head of the track with shield at the ready. His expression remained neutral and professional. Connor had to stifle a chuckle as Finnegan's eyes widened in surprise in response to the dummy speeding towards him.

 _Revenge is a dish best served on a two-hundred and fifty pound speeding dummy, Finnegan._

As arduous as this aspect of the training was, it was imperative that each person learned how to stop the momentum of the dummy. It translated directly to being able to halt a charging line of Creeps or Beowolves, and it played a part as well when it came to to the more troublesome types, like Ursai and Boarbatusks.

Finnegan grunted as the dummy collided with his shield. While Connor backpedaled to dissipate the force of the charge, Finnegan took the brunt of it, his boots digging gouges into the dirt as he skidded to a halt. With a loud cry, Finnegan heaved against the dummy and sent it rolling back.

It was truly difficult to hold in his laughter as Finnegan furtively glared daggers at him, but years of military experience allowed Connor to maintain his composure. Orso took the shield and returned it to him.

"As you can see, you must remain steadfast when it comes to absorbing an incoming charge, as Corporal Byrnes here has demonstrated," Orso explained, and Connor thought he saw a slightly smug look on Finnegan's face.

"That being said, however," he continued, "please do refrain from the theatrical shouting next time, would you? It's unbecoming of a soldier of Mantle like you."

"Yes, sir," Finnegan replied, moving back over to the side. Connor coughed into his fist to conceal a chuckle that escaped from his throat. Fortunately, no one noticed.

By now, the sun had begun to set, thus signaling the end another day of combat training. Donovan and Julius headed back to their barracks to clean the grime and sweat off. Afterwards, they found themselves back in the mess hall, Connor was nowhere to be seen, so they simply sat with the other members of their platoon, wolfing down their dinner.

* * *

"Corporal Damascus reporting in, sir!" Connor saluted to Braxis, who was seated at his desk in his office. Orso stood to his side, patiently waiting in parade rest. A glance outside the office window showed that it was already dark, only an hour or so left before lights out.

"At ease, corporal." Braxis returned the salute. "So?"

"Nothing abnormal so far, sir," Connor began. "Platoon Four's rifle training is progressing smoothly, and I believe most of them are proficient enough with the Linfields."

"Orso?" Braxis directed his attention to the Sergeant.

"What Corporal Damascus says is true. Aside from a late bloomer or two, most, if not all, of the platoon are now consistently reporting over a seventy percent accuracy rate."

"We'll have to get that percentage higher, but the current progress is acceptable. What of the close combat training, Corporal?"

"Most of the platoon have a general grasp of the first two forms, but are having trouble with the third. As for their shield repels, most of them still cannot manage to hold their ground," Connor answered.

"What do you have the dummies dialed at, Orso?"

"Two-fifty with a six-gauge rod," he responded. Braxis raised an eyebrow.

"That is definitely above Mantle's current standards," he noted. "What was it that we used again?"

"I believe it was two-ten with a four-gauge."

"Are you sure you're not overdoing it?"

"Like you said, sir, time is somewhat of a precious commodity. Rest assured, they'll be able to handle it soon."

"I'll trust you in that regard, Orso, but don't go off and break their arms."

"Understood, sir."

"Corporal." Braxis returned his attention to Connor.

"Yes, sir."

"Your thoughts on your platoon's current acclimation to military life?"

"I think they are adjusting well enough. No major conflicts have arisen in these past three months, and it certainly helps that they're wages match that of a Mantlean soldier. Aside from that, there's nothing out of the ordinary as of yet." Connor responded.

"That is good." Braxis nodded. "If that is all, Corporal, then you are dismissed."

Connor saluted once more and left the office, leaving the two older men behind in the office.

"Sergeant Orso, once your platoon is completely proficient in combat training and have a solid grasp on the shield repel as well as the subsequent platoon formations, you are to report to me immediately," Braxis instructed. "Once all the platoons are accounted for in that regard, we will proceed to training expeditions at the border."

"Sir," Orso began, with an edge of concern in his voice. "Are you certain about this? Most soldiers do not live expeditions until they have at least a year under their belt."

"As we have both pointed out, time is not a luxury that we can afford, so they'll need as much exposure as possible," he explained.

"What if it fails?" Orso asked, not wanting to consider the consequences of a failed expedition.

"I will assign a detachment of the Seventh Infantry Company to each platoon as a buffer. If all else fails, they will do what they were trained to do. Not only that, it may very well hinder, if not completely halt, any further endeavors in the development of the Valean military if we have no results to show for."

Orso, not having much to say, simply chose to remain silent.

"That will be all, Sergeant Orso. Dismissed." Braxis concluded, his face impassive. As Orso departed, he glanced at the new missive on his desk, signed by none other than Lieutenant General Emery Raleigh himself.

 _If this is for the greater good, then so be it._

* * *

 **A/N: Shorter chapter this week, largely due to the upcoming finals in a few days. Afterwards, it'll be a good week-and-a-half of uninterrupted and stress-free writing.**

 **As for the story itself, the pacing does seem a bit slow. But hey, it is one of the most brutal wars on Remnant, where man is pitted against man, and the Grimm also play a role as well. Also, if we are to go with what Roosterteeth has provided us, the Great War lasted 10 years.**

 **For reference:**

 **-American Revolutionary War was 8 years long**

 **-American Civil War and World War 1 were 4 years long**

 **-World War 2 was 6 years long**

 **That being said, I think it's safe to say that a decent portion was fighting off the Grimm. However, I know that it sucks that it's taking so long to get to an actual war started in this fic, but I also think it's well warranted to have a slow buildup, to see all the chess pieces being set up and put to play, the moves and maneuvers attempted in this grand theater of war.**

 **robyork1690: For Athenion Nikos, it's good food for thought as to how Pyrrha was able to achieve such levels of martial excellence. The idea of her descending from royalty seemed to fit the best, even if it may or may not be canon. As for Athenion and Pyrrha as characters, they do share somewhat similar circumstances, but how they choose to act through it will be markedly different. So yeah, Athenion isn't just a genderbent Pyrrha who eventually starts to fall for Julius. Nope. I'd like for him to be his own character.**

 **As always, reviews, constructive criticism, and questions are greatly appreciated. Also, thank you for sticking with this story of mine.**

 **-The Bard**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12:** Of Returning and Visiting

* * *

Zahrati paused at the outer gates of Nazef, or at least to the side of it. The towering redstone gates had been open for just over an hour, and the daily migration of merchants, traders, and travelers had already started to flow in. One did not simply stand in the midst of a river and expect it to part.

She kept the hood of her desert robe pulled over, ensuring that no one would be able to recognize her unless they peered upwards from below. Not that people recognized her; it was only to keep attention away from herself. As she made her way home, she was tempted by the fragrances that wafted from nearby.

 _It wouldn't hurt to grab a bite, s_ he convinced herself. Taking a detour, she found herself in the middle of a waking bazaar. Peddlers had just set up their stalls along the streets and alleyways, and people began to slowly congregate as they walked around, looking to buy the necessary goods that they needed for the day. Zahrati, on the other hand, followed her nose and made a beeline towards the aroma.

Sweets and spices saturated the air around her, breaking the slow morning lethargy. Various meats of lamb and duck hung from crooked hooks as butchers sharpened their knives and shopkeepers did their books. As fires were lit and pans set to the test, Zahrati made her way through the streets, feeling comfortably lost in it all.

Many of them were still cooking the first batches of the day and would not be ready for a little while longer. However, there were a few on display that caught her eye.

" _Salaam_ ," she beckoned in front of one of the stalls. "Two _balah el sham_ , please."

The skewered balls of fried dough were still steaming slightly, and the syrup that it had been dipped in was still somewhat runny. It was an unconventional breakfast for sure, but she had already finished one skewer before leaving the stall. With the second one in hand, she began to meander around the rest of the local bazaar, on the lookout for anything else that caught her fancy.

 _Maybe something for alssalf?_

It had been months since her stint at Yusif. She had kept regular letter correspondence with Osman, keeping him updated on her night watch duties and Nusar's progress with the training in Yusif. His responses, however, were few and far between and often curt too. The idea of an irate Osman definitely did not bode well with Zahrati.

 _But I did the right thing. He'll understand, s_ he thought. _I hope._

She then turned a corner and was greeted by the sound of children laughing in the distance. They sat in a half-circle off to the side in an open area up against the wall. Among them, making exaggerated motions and speaking in many pitches of voices was—

 _Alssalf._

Osman was reenacting one of the stories that he often told on his visits to the bazaar. Her remaining _balah el sham_ was forgotten as he seemed to mystically turn in her direction and made eye contact. His eyes betrayed no emotion and he said nothing as he continued the story for the amusement and entertainment of the children.

Sighing, Zahrati leaned against a nearby wall as she waited for Osman to finish. There was no point in delaying the inevitable now. It would have been beyond foolish to try and lose herself within the bazaar again, when her original purpose was to put off returning to Osman, but she was just simply too nervous.

"Come," a voice commanded. So Osman was done.

Wordlessly, she fell in line behind him, head lowered, as they returned home. The walks was a quick and quiet one. Osman had not said anything for the duration of the walk, and Zahrati was too nervous to speak.

"Welcome back," he said, not turning to face her. They walked through the front door, where Osman set his walking stick down and made to attend to his daily chores and tasks.

" _Alssalf_ , I'm…I'm sorry," she stammered quietly. She understood what she had done was rash, and she silently hoped that Osman, in his concern for her, did not hold it against her.

Before she could attempt to explain herself, Osman quickly turned around and approached her. Fearing the worst, she kept her head and eyes turned downwards, afraid of what she might see.

Which was why she was completely caught off-guard when she felt his arms wrap around her. Even though she was taller than him, she felt small in his warm embrace.

"Welcome home, Zahrati." Osman drew back, and there was a faint smile on his face.

Still silent, although now with surprise, Zahrati remained standing by the front door.

"You're… not angry?" she asked.

"Angry? Never. Although I would say you've caused me quite the worry when you ran off to Yusif," Osman explained.

"But—"

"And I understand. You did the right thing, and I'm proud of you for that."

"But your letters, they way they were written… I thought you didn't approve?"

"Nonsense. You had your own tasks to attend to, more so after Nusar and his men arrived to help train the people. It would only cause me greater concern if the letters had distracted you from your duties."

Still seeing doubt and worry upon her face, Osman planted a small kiss on her forehead.

"Zahrati, you are _eashira_." _Family_. "I could never bring myself to bear any ill will towards you, no matter what you do."

She nodded slowly and began to chuckle. In no time, they both were laughing at the absurdity of the situation that she had created.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Lunch isn't going to make itself, and it has been far too long since we've cooked together. It's time you ate some wholesome food instead of things like that _balah el sham_ ," Osman noted dryly.

* * *

"A trade delegation?" Zahrati asked, seated in the main room. The sun, which was close to setting, cast long shadows through the house. Simple candles, lit by fire dust, gave the interior rooms a small, orange glow.

"From what Maysan had told me, representatives from Mantle will be coming directly to see if they can leave an impression on the sultan; no doubt they seem quite eager to have these new trade propositions passed," Osman explained through the long pipe at his lips. He inhaled, then blew out a stream of smoke. "In the meantime, it seems that they will also bring a select number of goods, alongside with other oddities from Mistral, to showcase to the people of Nazef. They say they merely wish to allow the people to 'experience' what Mantle has to offer."

"Meaning?"

"To put it bluntly, they are putting the sultan in a vulnerable spot by bolstering public support for the proposed trade deal."

"But couldn't the sultan just choose to not receive the delegation? Then they wouldn't be able to sway the people," Zahrati ventured.

"He could, but it is much more complicated than just saying 'no'. If he chose to do so, it would put Nazef, and the kingdom of Vacuo, in an awkward political situation. For all intents and purposes, Mantle is doing no wrong by extending a diplomatic hand to another kingdom of Remnant. Should the sultan reject them, it would have cast a questionable light on our motives."

"So what can we do?"

"Maysan has assured me that they will act with moderation. No matter what they say or offer, there is still the underlying issue at hand."

"Which would be?" Zahrati asked.

"Ah, yes. I never had time to tell you, correct?"

"Yes."

"I wonder why?" Osman muttered sarcastically, to which Zahrati responded with a sheepish grin.

"Mantle wants access to our dust reserves, far underneath the local rock quarries. Extracting them is slow work but, without a doubt, there are existing deposits that are the largest in the Kingdom, maybe even on the continent of Sanus itself."

"How much did they want?" she questioned. Surely it was something reasonable?

"To put it shortly, all of it."

"What?" Zahrati's eyes widened. "What would they need that much dust for?"

"And that brings us to the current problem at hand. Mantle isn't lacking dust within their mountain ranges. With the amount of dust below those quarries, creating and populating a new kingdom would be child's play," he explained, setting the pipe down. "Thus, we assume that they're attempting something on a previously unheard of scale. The problem is, they have not told us why they need this dust, and that enough is a cause for concern."

"When does the delegation arrive?

"They are coming to Nazef through the established trade routes as we speak, and should be here in a few days time. Then, we will see what Mantle has to offer."

* * *

There was much commotion outside the city walls as the first sightings of the delegation emerged over the horizon. In no time, heads turned upwards as a convoy of airships passed over the city, descending just outside of the gates on the other side. The airships consisted largely of spherical canvas balloons, with harnesses strapped across its surface, which secured the platforms of people and goods underneath. Stretching across both sides of the ship platforms were large, fin-like wings to help steer and glide.

"So Mistral have also begun creating airships?" Maysan mused to himself, waiting in the palace courtyard with many others.

"They are nothing like the metal monstrosities that I have heard of," Osman noted next to him.

"Of course not. From what I've heard, current Mantlean airships are big slabs of metal, needing stretches of empty land to take off. I can't wrap my head around how they can even get airborne, much less how much dust they would consume. These airships, on the other hand, still retain some dignity and elegance."

Zahrati paid them no heed as she kept an eye on the main estate gates. The delegation was due soon, and she wondered what the people in it would be like. Her curiosity was soon answered as a formation of tall men in gray uniforms walked through the gate and headed towards the palace.

 _They have rifles_. Zahrati's eyes were locked onto the long rods of steel and walnut. She had heard of them, weapons that could kill Grimm from a distance, but she had never seen one until now. Keeping the sand out of such an intricate weapon like that would have been next to impossible, so the people of Vacuo naturally relied on more traditional means of combating the Grimm.

The accompanying soldiers themselves were, to Zahrati, nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from the fact that they had taller physiques and paler skins than most men of Vacuo, their sharp uniforms seemed quite dull. The leader of the delegation, on the other hand, was a curiosity to her. He was tall and slim, and yet was the only one not in a military uniform. She assumed that he would be the one that would be heading the negotiations, but the other man at his side that also gave her pause. He was much older than the men that accompanied him, and his gait instinctively gave her the impression that he was a man of authority and respect.

A sharp intake of breath at her side made Zahrati look towards Osman. His eyes were narrowed, and he did not seem pleased.

 _Is it someone he knows?_

Her musings were cut short when a cheer went up from the people of Nazef. Striding out from the main palace gate was the sultan himself, Rashid ibn Marzuq al-Hashim. Relatively speaking, he was a young leader, only entering his fourth decade in life, yet his rule was mostly fair. Striding confidently in robes of vibrant red and white, he did not hesitate to meet the leader of the delegation with open arms.

"The sultan! He's here!"

"Blessed be unto him!"

"None so fair and just in all of Vacuo!"

Zarhati could not hear the words that were being exchange over the din of the crowd, but the handshake shared between the two was indicator enough that things were at least starting well enough. With another wave, the sultan and the delegation excused themselves into the palace, and the crowd gave another cheer.

 _Fair and just, huh?_

"Let us return home now." Osman waved farewell to Maysan and began walking out of the palace, with Zahrati following behind.

* * *

Some hours later, there was a knock on the door, and Zahrati went to open it. To her surprise, it was the same older man from before, the one with the air of authority and power.

"Excuse me, does Osman live here?" he asked.

 _Osman?_ _What does he want with him?_

She did not immediately answer, nor did she need to. Footsteps behind her signaled Osman's presence. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he stood straighter than she had seen him in years.

"I am here, Henry."

"Osman, it has been far too long." Helms replied with a small smile.

"So it has." Osman noted dryly.

"How have you been? We haven't kept in touch in years."

Osman placed a hand on Zahrati's shoulder.

"Zahrati, leave us be. I will go and find you when we are done."

With a nod, she did so.

* * *

Many of the curiosities were put up on display near the gate where the airships had landed. The street that led in and out of said gate became the impromptu grounds for a festival, where people came to see these new innovations.

One that caught the interest of many was located in an area that was poorly lit. However, many expressed their surprise when, suddenly, many motes of light appeared, seemingly out of thin air. Upon closer inspection, it was a string of glass bulbs with fine wiring in them. They were connected to a contraption with lightning dust in it, and with a flick of a switch and a static buzz, energy would flow into the bulbs, generating surprising amounts of light. The Mantlean's spoke of foreign concepts like "electricity" and "light bulbs"

Another was a great steam engine, a conundrum powered by both fire and water. It consisted of wheels and pistons, and people made sure to stand clear of the steam that occasionally burst from it. They watched in wonder as this contraption, with a heavy cylindrical hammer attached to it, hammered flat many pieces of metal.

There was also a congregation of people gathered around the airships outside of Nazef. Many of those who found themselves rising into the air cried out in wonder as the city and people beneath them shrunk, although there were a few that suffered the unfortunate consequences of sudden altitude changes and motion sickness.

On the ground near the oasis, many men, mostly mercenaries, gathered around a collection of weapons. They nodded in understanding as some of the soldiers from the delegation demonstrated the usage of these rifles, turning a line of Grimm dummies into a burning heap of black cloth from an extreme distance.

Many also wondered at the short slanted standing tubes that were supported by two legs. They inquired about it and were wholly pleased at the results. The soldiers slid a long metal shell into the cylinder and, with a deafening bang, it was immediately launched out of the tube. The flaming dummies were blown away moments later with a deep boom as the shell made contact.

Zahrati saw it all as she sat alone atop the sandstone ramparts, watching as festivities took place below. It seemed Osman had much to say to their sudden visitor, for the sun had set already. The city glowed as people began lighting candles and torches to keep the festival going.

It seemed that the people were enjoying themselves, yet they remained blissfully ignorant of the festival's underlying implications. They did not feel the gravity of the unfolding situation and what it might mean for Vacuo's future. Then again, many of them were not privy to Osman's wisdom and knowledge.

Her thoughts were cut off as a burst of light bloomed above her. Looking upwards, Zahrati's vision was filled with fireworks of various shapes and patterns and colors, meant to dazzle and entertain.

To her, however, the display was gaudy and wholly unnecessary. It disrupted the blanket of the night sky, obscuring the constellations and blotting out the calm darkness. The constellations, which she always looked for as it winded through the heavens, were impossible to see under the hail of fireworks.

 _This is supposed to convince us to give away all of our dust?_ _Some garish display contraptions and explosives?_

She wondered how the negotiations would go. It could be said that the sultan was considered to be a fair and just ruler, yet it seemed people always forgot those of her kind, unless it came to enslaving them. When it came to the faunus, most chose to not even acknowledge them. In a perverse way, it had stung more than if they were harassed or belittled. Even that was a acknowledgment of their existence, as twisted and convoluted as it was.

 _And once again, I must call into question what it means to be "just" and "fair"._

Everything around her felt so shallow, so meaningless. There were those who spoke of progress, of the future and all of its bounties, but for who? Perhaps they made such claims with the best intentions, but in the end there were some that would always be left behind or forgotten. It seemed that this whole negotiation with Mantle was just another facet of that.

Zahrati drew her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Amid the fireworks and festivities, she just wanted to get away from it all.

* * *

 **A/N:** **I do believe that the pacing of this fic is a bit slow (might have mentioned it in the last chapter, I forget). 12 chapters in, and it doesn't even seem like we're anywhere close to a war, right? Worry not, things begin to speed up now that the boys at the Halitus outpost are moving through training and Zahrati has been established some more. Then there's all of the stuff happening behind-the-scenes, such as the meeting between Helms and Osman.**

 **Also, for the name Rashid ibn Marzuq al-Hashim, based on what I've been able to find, essentially means: "Rashid, son of Marzuq, of the Hashim line."**

 **As always, reviews, constructive criticisms, and questions are greatly appreciated. They help me write a better fic for you all to read.**

 **-The Bard**

* * *

 **Here's a little extra, when my editor and I were up at three in the morning and getting completely wrecked by finals.**

One did not simply stand in the middle of a river of merchants, traders, and others that entered and exited as the day began.

Osman was rambling to his youngins as he usually would, with candy in hand, van in the back, and the promise of a good time. Zahrati looked around and saw the Nazef Elementary sign in the distance. Those balls of flour in her mouths had distracted her from the fact that Osman made his morning pickups in these parts. She quickly turned around and tried to sneak back into the dark recesses of the busy bazaar.

"Zahrati," Osman mused without looking. "I know you are behind that corner."

Zahrati paused and reversed her tracks, walking towards the old man and his flock of children.

"Hello, _alssalf_."

"It's been so long child," said Osman. "It's been so hard these days without a driver. You know how hard it is to load these kids into the back of the van and then get in the front to drive? With just one old man?"

Before Zahrati could answer, Osman leapt back in. "Too many, Zahrati! Too many!"


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13** : Soldiers and Men

"Safeties off!"

The earth rumbled as a pack of Ursa, twenty strong, led by two Majors, barreled out of the snow-covered forest, their distant outlines quickly growing in size. It seemed that the Ursai had been stalking them, and only a poorly-concealed huff gave them away. The patrol had almost been caught unaware, but it was only under the quick thinking and swift command of Sergeant Muller, with of years of experience, that they were able to organize a firing formation.

"Steady!" he called to the two rows of soldiers, one standing and one kneeling, who held their rifles at the ready in the winter air, barrels aimed towards the Grimm. Occurrences like this were uncommon but always expected. That was the standard protocol when making patrols, and thus they were mostly prepared to deal with the situation at hand.

He saw them from a distance, saw fury and rage within those crimson orbs. They had no need to eat, nor were they wronged in any way. They simply sought the destruction of mankind and all of its creations.

The Ursa Minors easily towered over men, and their diminutive bony face plates and back spikes were easily compensated for with thick forelimbs that could crush a body to pulp. The Ursa Majors, with age and time giving them plated armor and further developed protrusions, were feared as deathly and unnatural forces of nature.

"Fire!" he commanded.

The barrels of the rifles flared as the heat from the exiting bullets made contact with the cold air. To the untrained eye, it seemed that the rounds did nothing to slow the advance. However, it was simply momentum that kept the Ursai moving forward as the volleys of bullets tore through limbs and blew out eyes.

"Fire!" he yelled again after the formation had quickly reloaded their rifles.

The remaining Ursai began to ignite as the rounds flew over their fallen brethren and into them. One of the majors had fallen, and only one was left to lead the rapidly failing charge.

"Fire!"

The Grimm slowed to a halt as a haze of black mist floated upwards from the multitude of bodies. The other Major, riddled with holes and profusely bleeding from the many cracks in its faceplate, defiantly dragged itself forward on the ground, staining the snow black. In the time it had been alive, it had never experienced such lethality from so few humans. As it wheezed its final breaths, it roared once more at the rows of soldiers in front of it, all wearing armor over their grey combat uniforms.

"Hold!" Muller commanded, noting how the soldiers were already beginning to relax and lower their rifles. It was best to never let one's guard down so soon, as one could never be too cautious against the Grimm.

It was a poorly-concealed huff that gave it away.

Screams tore through the air as bones were broken and soldiers were trampled underfoot. No sooner had Muller given the command to hold, another Major, seemingly out of nowhere, roared and charged through the formation from its rear.

"Shields! Form up!"

The call was hastily given. Immediately, the soldiers that had not been run over formed a solid shield wall facing this new, rogue Ursa, which had begun turning around for another charge. It shook itself, and the rest of the squad watched as a body, impaled and bloody, fell off its back spines and to the side.

"Steady!"

The Major pawed the floor underneath with its head down, no doubt preparing to gore the shield wall with its jagged back spikes. Muller hoped that the wall, with many swords pointing outwards and towards the Ursa, would deter it.

 _The older the Grimm was, the more likely they were to exercise caution instead of recklessness, right?_

That thought was dashed as the ground rumbled, the Ursa Major fully committing itself to its charge.

"Split! Cut down the legs!"

The formation managed to separate around the Ursa and collectively cut at its legs. It roared in displeasure as it bled, but it still remained upright as it turned again.

"Again!"

Adapting to this, it swayed its head from side to side as it charged. This would have seemed odd, even humorous, were it not for the fact that the long spines on its back swung ominously as well.

"Break!" Muller commanded, recognizing that it would be impossible to halt it. Luckily, no one else was harmed as they dove for the ground, but the threat that the Ursa posed had not diminished.

"Surround it and take it down! We can't let it charge again!"

Muller knew his command was risky, extremely so, but there was no other available option at the moment. Either they wasted time and energy trying to whittle down the seemingly inexhaustible Major, fueled by hatred, or strike decisively and end it. It was something that they all recognized.

The world went quiet around Muller except for the beating of his own heart as he ran straight towards the Ursa. It met his gaze momentarily, and as if understanding what they were about to do, stood up on its hind legs and roared.

"Press on!"

He did not hear the screams as a paw swipe sent two men flying, nor did he care about the soldiers with fear etched onto their faces. Grunting as a paw slid over his shield, Muller pointed his sword forward and ran it into its leg. It didn't go very deep, but as the Ursa bellowed in pain, Muller knew that he had bought enough time.

The Ursa could not react as the rest of the squad closed in and began hacking away at its legs. In no time, the ground shook as it fell to the ground, immobilized.

"Tend to the wounded! Double time!" he commanded, gasping for air as sound returned to him.

As the soldiers rushed to help their fellow wounded. Sergeant Muller walked around the fallen Ursa. It snorted at him and growled, but Muller did not react. In one swift stroke, he buried his sword into the back of its exposed neck and gave it a sharp jerk. With its neck and nervous system severed, the manic glow from its eyes began to dull, and the Ursa began to dissolve.

Muller methodically wiped down his blade as the others took a brief rest after tending to the wounded as best as they could. Some would need attention as soon as possible, while others were perfectly able to walk by themselves. He inhaled deeply from his nostrils and released slowly from his mouth; the smell of blood and ichor lingered around them.

In that freak charge, eight of the twenty-four men suffered injuries ranging from broken arms to a nearly-collapsed ribcage. Fortunately, the armor combined with their training kept them from certain death, if not from an honorable discharge.

There were three covered in bloodied cloth on the stretchers that did not share the same fortunate fate. One had been completely run through by the spikes, even through the armor, from his head down to his waist. Nine punctures in total. The other was missing a head, which had popped like a melon when the Ursa's foot came down on it in the initial surprise charge.

 _At least their deaths were quick_ , he thought grimly.

The same could not be said for the third, and final, dead soldier.

* * *

 _He gasped short breaths as Muller turned him onto his back and attempted to attend to him. His left arm was dangling by a few bits of skin and skewed unnaturally inwards, as it was the point of contact when the Ursa Major's paw made contact. The same could be said for that side of the body as well, where even a fool could tell that most of the organs had been crushed and bones shattered. Blood had pooled into the snow from multiple ruptures in his body, and what little of it was left desperately tried to keep him alive._

 _Tears ran down his paling face, eyes unfocused, as he died a painful death. Muller remained silent and kept his head bowed. There was nothing he or the others could do, for this level of injury was not something they had the medical expertise to handle. The rest worked silently on the other injured as he continued to futilely cling to life._

 _Eventually the breathing stopped, only to be replaced by a calm silence. His glazed eyes were closed by another as he was laid into his own stretcher and covered in cloth._

* * *

Muller sighed and shook his head. Since it was only a basic patrol, they were not equipped with additional ammunition beyond the three magazines assigned to each soldier. Had the Ursai not been stopped after the third volley, they would have had to resort to the swords and shields strapped to their backs.

As for the case with the rogue Major, they did. The soldiers knew how to use them, but engaging the Grimm in close combat was always a highly dangerous proposition, regardless of training or experience. The eight injured and the three killed in action were testament to that.

 _Far too close for comfort._

"We're pulling back to base everyone!" he called out. "Get your gear together and move out!"

The fact that the Valean military and local militia patrols had managed to keep the Grimm at bay somewhat impressed him. Back in Mantle, it had simply been a matter of spotting the unnatural black of the Grimm against the white snow as they tried to ascend the slopes. From there, a locked shield wall, were it necessary after gunfire, was more than enough to send them tumbling to their deaths. Ursai, Beowolf, Boarbatusk, it didn't matter. The steep slope always worked against the Grimm, largely reducing any potential momentum in a charge.

 _Then again, Ursai are less common in Mantle. Most of them can't balance on the slopes and fall to their deaths regardless of what we do._

Here, the Grimm used the shadows of the forest to their advantage in an attempt to catch unfortunate souls unaware. Furthermore, with the flat terrain being an equalizer, the soldiers had had to adapt their combat styles. The Beowolves and Creeps were still manageable, but many formations had to split or stagger themselves against Boarbatusks and Ursai, should they choose to fully commit to a charge, which, unfortunately, seemed to be always.

Granted, the current Valean military structure was adequate enough to combat Grimm, but it was riddled with inefficiencies and flaws that left much to be desired. Which was why the small squadron that Muller led was mix of Mantlean and Valean soldiers, all outfitted with the newest equipment and weaponry. That in itself raised its own problem.

The soldiers that had been run through and crushed from the side were Valean, and Muller sighed yet again at the prospect of having to explain to the local command how that came to be. Yet that was the reality of fighting the Grimm as soldiers. No matter how thoroughly planned or trained, casualties were ever-present among those who chose to fight back.

 _Mantlean. Valean. It doesn't matter. The Grimm don't give a damn._

* * *

"Donovan, get off me."

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I think a piece of my armor is stuck with yours."

"For the love of—"

They struggled a little while more as the rest of the soldiers around them recovered and stood up. To say that formation training wasn't going well was, well, quite the understatement. What was supposed to be two shield walls clashing became a jumble of limbs as shields slid off of each other and everyone slipped on the snow-covered dirt underfoot.

"Damascus! Winchester! What do you think you two are doing? This isn't the time for romance in the snow!" roared Orso. He sounded quite irate, which was only partially justified. Sure, they were all making a mess of the training, but what was one to do when they were ordered to charge headfirst into a wall of shields? And in the snow, of all things?

Connor sighed as he let his head fall into the white powder.

"Our armor is stuck, sir," he stated.

"Reeves! Arc! Get those two lovers up!"

The platoon remained silent as the two were separated. Either they were too drained by the snow or just afraid of another one of Orso's outburst, none could tell. Donovan adjusted his armor as he took his place once again in one of the two opposing shield formations. There were many parts to the armor, which consisted of steel pauldrons, bracers, chestplate, tassets, and greaves. Despite its overall weight, he felt secure in it.

Once they had become proficient on the combat forms, the next step was putting it all together as a unified formation. Hence, the two shield walls clashing against one another. However, that was much easier said than done. When it came to individual drilling and sparring, they did well enough. The problem was applying that knowledge and transitioning it to more than just themselves.

Donovan physically and mentally braced himself as Orso called the charge once again. He hoped his armor didn't get stuck onto anything again.

* * *

They found themselves once again at the _Gambit_. Snow was falling outside, and the two were quietly nursing their warm apple ales. Donovan always took any opportunity to enjoy alcohol, and he grinned behind his mug that he had managed to get Connor hooked too. Nothing habit-forming, to be sure, given his self-imposed iron discipline, but it didn't stop him from enjoying a drink once in a while.

It had been a regular spot for them ever since their first visit, where they simply sat around and enjoyed drinks and each other's company. It was a well-appreciated reprieve from both the intensity and monotony of combat training. Visits every other week for, what, the past five months now?

 _We're almost halfway through._

"Connor. About earlier, with the armor. Sorry about that," Donovan began.

"It's fine," he answered around a sip, not wanting to dwell on it," By the way, how long will Julius take?"

"I don't know," Donovan shrugged, "Sometimes he gets way too interested in his projects and loses track of time."

"Is he always like this?" he asked. "Seems like it would cause a good amount of trouble back home,"

"Tell me about it," Donovan rolled his eyes. "Our dad is always telling him off, but he always manages to get away with it."

"'Our' father?" Connor inquired, despite already knowing their past. This was the first time he had actually mentioned his family. "But you have different surnames."

"Ah, right," Donovan said. "Well, you could say things happened and eventually he came to live with us."

"How long has that been going on for? It's quite surprising to see how well you two complete each other's thoughts."

"Yeah, I guess we do that sometimes, don't we?" Donovan chuckled. "Ever since he moved in with us, we were pretty close. Dad was always busy with the forge, so it was mostly our mother and I who took care of him."

"So that's why you seem to be protective of him."

"I guess, yeah. We may not technically be related by blood, but he's my younger brother regardless."

"Little? By how much?"

"Around half a year."

"And what of his own parents?"

"Ah," Donovan paused, "that's probably another story for another time. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't trust you or anything, but I don't really think it's my story to tell. "

"I see. If that's the case, then—"

The tavern doors swung open, and a breathless Julius rushed over to the seated pair. In his arms was a bundle wrapped in cloth. It wasn't too large, but it seemed to bulge at odd angles.

"I did it!" he exclaimed. "I've got it working now!"

"Did you now?" Donovan questioned. "Does causing an explosion count as 'working now'?"

"Shut up," Julius bit back, ignoring the sarcasm. He placed the bundle on the table and pulled off the cloth. Curious, the two leaned in to take a closer look

"It's quite the work of art, if I do say so myself," Julius preened. "Everything is set on the wooden base. On top of that is a metal base, where a length of metal with a flat knob at the end rests on the fulcrum in the middle."

"What's everything else for?" Connor queried.

"You see this spring? It acts as a counterweight when you push down on the knob. Then when you push down on the knob, these two bits of metal, one on the strip of metal and the other on the base, it creates a pathway to the lightning dust here at the other side. From there, a current is transmitted to the other device through the wire, leaving us with a revolutionary means of instant communication!"

Julius finished with a flourish, one arm raised in the air. Donovan deadpanned and Connor look somewhat confused. That was quite a mouthful of information, yet he found himself no closer to understanding this thing that Julius had created.

"I have no idea what you just said." Connor voice his thoughts.

"Julius," Donovan began dryly, "what exactly am I looking at?"

"You two never understand my genius. Just watch."

He placed one of the devices in front of him and the other on the other side, where Connor sat.

"Connor, put your finger on the knob."

He complied, and Julius did so for his as well.

 _Click. Click. ClickClick._

Connor heard it, but he also felt it as well. Julius had pushed down on the knob, causing the two circular pieces of metal to make contact. Surprisingly, the action was mirrored by the one that he had his hand on, despite him not having done anything.

"It's pretty neat, huh?"

"It's interesting, for sure, but I still don't understand."

"Remember what I told you when you first asked me? If this works over a long distance, it might revolutionize communications! Think about it, if you manage to stretch the wire for a few miles, you could instantaneously send a message instead of having to spend the time getting there."

"Have you tested this yourself?" Connor asked.

"I'll have you know, Connor, that I," Julius began, the deflated, "have not."

"What?" Donovan interjected.

"I don't know if the current from a shard of lightning dust this small would travel far, so that's going to require further testing.

"Well, while you're considering that, get yourself a drink. Donovan tells me here that the appl-"

An abrupt scraping of chairs interrupted his suggestion. Turning, they saw people facing each other.

 _Why the hell are they wearing their uniforms?_ Connor thought. Three of them were, for whatever reason, wearing their combat uniforms. It wasn't strictly prohibited, but it was still best to not bring attention to oneself.

"Come again?" The lead one asked. They weren't from Platoon four, so Connor did not recognize them. He did, however, recognize from their uniforms that they were from Platoon two, and that they were Rivers, Kovak, and Montaine. They were under the command of Sergeant Striburg, who was rumored to be one of the harshest.

The other group were five or so men, tall and burly. _Farmers, perhaps?_ They weren't face to face, but it was close enough.

"You're sitting in our seats."

"Oh, your seats? I didn't know that people could just go about claiming them." Rivers drawled.

"Get out."

"Well, what if I don't want to? I think I'm quite content here, especially when I'm a paying customer."

Before the situation could escalate, Connor quickly walked up to them. He placed his hand on Rivers' shoulder.

"What are you-"

"It's not worth your time. If you make a scene, Sergeant Striburg won't be happy."

His eye twitched. The thought of angering Striburg did not sit well with him.

"Fine. Let's just get out of here." Rivers huffed. As they walked out, however, the farmers had one last thing to say.

"You were already taking our money before, and now you're taking even more. What else are you going to take away from us, huh?"

Rivers stopped and inhaled, but Connor, with his hand still on his shoulder, shook his head and pushed them on.

* * *

The people stopped what they were doing as they watched them pass by. Rows upon rows of soldiers marched down the streets of Pharus. More streamed out from the large Mantlean ships that rested at the ports. All was silent aside from the rhythmic cadence of their marching.

"That's quite a lot of soldiers there."

"Of course, Commander Treyas. With the current success of your military's reconstruction, your council has seen fit to request additional soldiers to expedite the process. Not only that, but some are also here to further the conscription program, which will create the next generation of Valean soldiers." the Mantlean captain replied.

"Valean or Mantlean? Considering the fact that we have not been allowed to train our own citizens, it seems wrong to simply call their training 'Valean'."

"Worry not, commander. They will remain as the people of Vale. The only difference is that they will receive the finest training Remn—" The tailing syllables were cut off by Treyas' piercing glare. "—ergh, Mantle has to offer, with permission of your council, of course."

"Yes, the permission of the council," _but not with us_. It was well known that the people of Vale had to pay for this increase, but how long would that acceptance last? There was the mutual understanding that it was for their safety, but this seemed completely excessive. If one looked close enough, it could be seen that the people thought the same. There would be nothing to keep safe if the people could not provide for their families or conduct business, and the air was filled in an undercurrent of uncertainty.

 _I hope that this will all serve its purpose in time. I do not wish to know what will happen if it does not._

* * *

 **A/N: The plot thickens at a gradual pace.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 14:** Recollections

* * *

 _The imposing ivory slabs glided open at his touch, but the reverberations of his footsteps throughout the Chambers of the Lords signaled his arrival. As he ascended the stairs of the council chamber, the banners of the lords slowly came into view. Each of them was decorated with unique heraldry, designed to represent the different aspects of the kingdom._

 _Helms kept his gaze straight as he slowed to a stop in the center of the chamber, surrounded by the Royal Council of Mantle. They were a collective of thirteen lords and ladies, seated behind a singular table that stretched around him in a nearly complete circle. He regarded their gazes, each scrutinizing, before clearing his throat and beginning._

"M _embers of the Royal Council, I thank you for gathering on such short notice."_

" _Enough with the formalities, General Helms. What could be so important that you have summoned us today?" a lofty voice inquired. Xander Vorthic, tall and imposing with his hawk-like visage. He was the leader of the thirteen, the representative voice of the council._

" _Very well," Helms began. "Council members, Lord Vorthic, before you all today I would like to make a request; the authorization of an expansion of our military forces into the Kingdom of Vale."_

" _And in what way is exerting military power into another kingdom appropriate, General? Unless, of course, you are suggesting conquest?" Another voice inquired, a deeper tone that rumbled within the chamber. Sebastian Glen, broad and stout, the Lord of Defence._

" _By establishing a presence among another kingdom, it allows for other cooperative endeavors to be explored. As you all know, this is how our relationship with Mistral, our sister kingdom, began."_

" _We are well aware of that fact," Vorthic answered, "but that was at a time when it was to ensure our mutual survival against the Grimm, before the advent of our revolutionary military and technological advancements."_

" _That is true, but—"_

" _We are beyond the dark ages of humanity, Helms. There is no need for that drastic level of cooperation anymore. Attempting to integrate two kingdoms now is completely unnecessary and impractical as well," another voice noted. Lady Calan, slim and shrewdly beautiful, the Lady of Commerce._

" _Indeed, Lady Calan, as they too have managed to survive in their own ways. That being said—"_

" _Then there is nothing more to say, is there not?" Vorthic concluded. "Although your opinion holds much weight, General, practically equal to one of ours given your position, I find myself questioning your motivations if you simply called us here today to address such a trivial matter."_

" _If you would allow me to explain, Lord Vorthic. I believe that the threat of the Grimm has not yet fully diminished. Rather, it is increasing, as preposterous as that may sound. If we choose inaction, we may well return to those dark ages."_

" _And how could that be possible?" Cassius Falnor asked, the Lord of the Treasury._

" _You are aware of fluctuations in Grimm encounters, no? Periods in which recorded engagements with the Grimm increase erratically. When they do occur, it is only for two to three weeks at a time, and only a few times per year."_

" _Your point being, Helms?" Lord Glen barked._

" _The recent engagements against the Grimm have been steadily increasing in size and intensity. It is nothing that the military cannot handle yet," Helms explained. "However, it has been seven weeks since this most recent fluctuation began. Not only has the quantity of the Grimm increased, but the quality and variety as well. Only four days ago did I receive reports of Obivos encroaching upon the slopes of Mantle's northern borders, a type of Grimm that has not been seen in decades."_

" _And on what grounds do you think that this is a sign of impending danger? What if it is nothing more than an abnormality of an abnormality?"_

" _I myself have authorized an investigation without the knowledge of the governments of Vale and Vacuo, utilizing a network of spies as well as our more covert aerial forces—"_

" _Are you mad? Did you even stop and think of the possible ramifications of infringing upon the sovereignty of another kingdom, Helms? And no less with spies and our limited aerial resources?" Vorthic exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Helms._

" _Of course I have, and I have come to the conclusion that any political ramification pales compared to the danger that the Grimm presents to humanity."_

" _But are they still as prevalent of a threat? Surely there's no need to be that drastic, is there?" Lady Calan inquired._

" _Do you still believe it to be drastic if I told you that such occurrences like these have, in one form or another, occurred across multiple areas in each of the kingdoms?"_

" _What?"_

" _From what we have ascertained, there have been movements of Grimm across the continent of Sanus, more so in the regions surrounding Vale. It has been subtle, almost imperceptible, but through the combination of local rumors and confirmed reports, it has been determined that the Grimm are gathering."_

" _And Vacuo?"_

" _There have been a recent number of tectonic shifts in the land. The people there do not notice it as much, due to the sand absorbing the energy. However, there is no other explanation for the drastic shifts in the dune formations across large areas. For all of these events to be happening in a relatively same period of time, I can only conclude that something is amiss."_

 _The silence pervaded the room as the implications of what he said became realized. Types of Grimm that were previously thought long gone? Large movements and congregations across a continent? Abnormal tectonic activities in Vacuo?_

 _Vorthic's eyes were narrowed, and a deep scowl had set on his face. It seemed that he wanted to dispute these claims, for they seemed ludicrous. However, it was after a minute of consideration that he deflated, running a hand across his face._

" _We will consider this further, but for the time being we shall put this to a vote. All in favor of granting General Helm's request for a military expansion into Vale?"_

 _General Helms closed his eyes and sighed as thirteen hands rose in response._

" _There you have it, General. We shall deal with the political maneuvering required to convince the Valean Council to see things from our perspective. You, on the other hand, will be held under scrutiny for the duration of this campaign. If the results are not satisfactory, we shall immediately recall all armed forces back to Mantle." Vorthic concluded._

" _What of Mistral and Vacuo?"_

" _In time, General. You will be notified in the coming future of what you will need to do."_

" _Very well. I thank you all once again for this audience."_

 _He strode out of the chamber, feeling no better than when he had entered. He had received permission from the council, and yet their acknowledgement of the danger, however reluctant, weighed down on him. There was a certain finality to this decision, and it seemed that it would be one where there would be no going back._

* * *

" _Henry Helms, General of Mantle's armies," he introduced, offering his gloved hand to the red-headed man. "Pleasure to meet you."_

 _Helms did not come bearing light news, yet he hoped that it did not show in the small gesture. However, the subtle reactions of his host told him more than enough._

" _The pleasure is mine," the host replied, matching the firm handshake. "Athenion Nikos, crown prince of Mistral."_

" _Shall we take a seat, Your Majesty?" Helms asked, noting the younger man's position. He gestured to the seats in the room before them, as a gesture of respect._

" _Of course. And please, 'Athenion' will be fine," he said, taking a seat. "That title belongs to my father, who has seen fit to delegate this task to me. If anything, your wisdom and experience is far above this position I've inherited, General."_

" _Very well," Helms replied, following suit. "That would explain why I am not currently talking to His Majesty Pericles the Second. Is he well?"_

" _Well enough as someone his age can be."_

" _I see. Then I will begin by explaining my reasons for being here today. I have been sent by the Mantlean Royal Council to contact you. Do you recall an inquiry made by Mantle, a few weeks ago, regarding Grimm activity in your kingdom?"_

" _Of course. If I recall, there was an unnatural rise in conflicts against the Grimm, even compared to the ones in the past. Even recently, the Mistrali army has had to deal with roaming herds of aggressing Goliaths, which was something that we certainly did not expect. I assume this is in some way related to your arrival?"_

" _That would be correct. I have come with a warning, Athenion. These rising conflicts that you mentioned, they have been occurring in the other kingdoms as well. Our kingdom, with its natural terrain and technological advancements, is more than equipped to deal with this threat. However, what worries me is the fact that these recent incidents do not seem to be subsiding."_

" _That is indeed a cause for concern. You mentioned the other kingdoms, so what of them?"_

" _We have not officially contacted them yet, but we have done preliminary investigations of their Grimm activity without their knowledge. Given the rising urgency of the situation, there was no time to establish an official agreement. That being said, there was not too much we could ascertain from Vacuo, although recent abnormalities in tectonic activity in the desert have been worrisome. As for Vale, we were able to find information regarding gatherings and migrations of Grimm across the regions surrounding the kingdom._

" _So what will you do now, General?" Athenion asked, his posture and gaze unflinching._

" _The Mantlean royal council will soon be making initial contact with the Valean council to inform them of the situation. Since it is the Grimm we are dealing with, I assume the council may choose to take more immediate, albeit drastic, actions to ensure the safety of Vale, who seem to remain ignorant to the growing threat. Further worsening the problem is their antiquated military structure, which will most likely have to be changed, whether they like it or not."_

" _And Vacuo?"_

 _"The people there are a hardy folk, but outside aid wouldn't hurt them. If anything, the council will not be as hasty in making a decision regarding Vacuo, so I will not worry about it."_

" _Then I have one more question, General," Athenion stated. "Do you require the kingdom of Mistral to assist you in any way? I am well aware of the relationship between our two kingdoms, and I think it is well within my bounds to offer help."_

" _That will not be necessary, Athenion." Helms chuckled. "I only need you, and your father, to be aware of this potential threat so that the necessary preparations can be made."_

 _"I see," Athenion stated. "I guess it is time for me to begin training again."_

" _Training? I didn't take you to be someone who engaged in combat."_

" _Victory is secured, not from the throne, but from the front lines." Athenion recited._

" _I beg your pardon?"_

" _It's an old saying in my family, one that has existed since the beginning of our line, General, when we charged headfirst into the Grimm to ensure our continued existence."_

" _Interesting." Helms mused. "Forgive me for saying this, but it does seem a bit archaic, does it not?"_

" _It does, but I think it simply means that one must be willing to fight and die for the future. There is only so much politics and government can do against Grimm, a force that we barely understand. My grandfather followed it, my father followed it, I have followed it, and I hope in time that-"_

 _There was a scuffle outside the door. Quiet, but enough for both Helms and Athenion to immediately cease the conversation. It seemed unlikely that someone would dare eavesdrop on them, but Athenion rose nonetheless to apprehend the intruder. Upon swiftly opening the door, his eyes widened._

" _Shizuka? Hektor? What are you two doing here?" he asked as he looked upon the odd scene. Hektor was struggling quietly as Shizuka, his mother, held him by the ear and attempted to pull him away from the doors. Hektor stopped struggling and Shizuka bowed her head towards Athenion as they both heard him, however._

" _And who might these people be, Athenion?" Helms asked, an eyebrow raised._

" _My apologies, General Helms. This is Shizuka Nikos, my wife, and Hektor, my son."_

 _Shizuka emanated an aura of elegance with her clear cyan robes and elevated cheekbones, with a demeanor that was both regal and demure. Hektor, the boy, only reached Helm's lower torso, but his face and build were quite similar to Athenion's._

" _Our apologies, General," Shizuka said with a bow, subtly pushing down on Hektor's head to do the same. "It won't happen again."_

" _Not to worry, Lady Nikos," Helms returned the gesture in kind with a small smile. "It is natural for children to be curious. If I may ask, is he your only child?"_

" _We also have twin daughters, Selenia and Linara, three years younger than Hektor here."_

" _Is it true that the Grimm are coming?" Hektor interrupted, earning a sharp glare from Shizuka. Athenion sighed quietly, wondering how much he had overheard._

" _Hektor!" Shizuka reprimanded._

" _There is nothing to worry about, young man. Nothing to worry about if you can protect your family. You can do that, right?"_

 _Hektor's puffed his chest in a show of bravado, which amused Helms._

" _Of course I can!_

" _That is good." Helms replied, placing a hand on Hektor's shoulder. "We all have a duty to protect those that we care about."_

" _Come on, Hektor," Athenion interjected. "I won't be finished if you're here. Go with your mother."_

 _Hektor nodded quietly and Shizuka bowed one last time, leading the boy away._

" _I apologize deeply for that interruption, General."_

" _As I have said, Athenion, there is nothing to worry about. The mind of a child is a wondrous thing."_

" _Do have children of your own?"_

" _No, I do not," Helms sighed wistfully. "When one hold the title of 'General', love is hard, if not impossible, to come by."_

" _I see. In that case, shall we continue then?" Athenion asked, gesturing back into the room._

" _That's alright. It would remiss of me to keep you from your family. As long as you heed this warning and make His Majesty aware of the situation, I will not have to worry as much. On that note, I shall take my leave. Farewell, Athenion."_

" _Farewell."_

* * *

" _Excuse me, does Osman live here?"_

 _The young woman who answered the door did not immediately answer, nor did she need to. Footsteps behind her signalled his presence. Helms saw him behind her, eyebrows furrowed and standing straight._

" _I am here, Henry."_

" _Osman, it has been far too long," Helms replied with a small smile._

" _So it has..." Osman noted dryly, his deep stare betraying his calm demeanor. He walked up behind the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Zahrati, leave us be. I will go and find you when we are done."_

 _Zahrati, that was her name, nodded quietly and threw her white desert robe over herself. Not looking back, she walked out the door and disappeared into the festive night._

 _Osman took a seat, but said nothing as Helms stood by the door. There was a faint tension in the air, but Helms silently took a seat across from him._

" _Osman," Helms began. "Are you well?"_

" _I am fine, Henry." Osman replied curtly, rising from his seat to fetch a pitcher of water and two cups._

" _When was the last time we had met? It's been over thirty years, has it not?"_

" _I suppose so."_

" _It was on the northern ends of Vacuo, was it not?"_

" _I believe so, although the circumstances in which we met were less than agreeable."_

" _I remember. The Bandit Wars."_

" _Mantle's arrival at the time was most inopportune. I remember saving a younger Lieutenant, unfamiliar with the geography and cultures of our people. But he learned soon enough." Osman said, sitting back down and pouring water for them both._

" _And I remember a younger mercenary, ready to kill to protect what was his."_

 _Osman sighed. Although he had aged, Helms noted that the man sitting across from him had changed little, if at all._

" _So what do you do these days, Osman? I doubt you still dabble in mercenary affairs."_

" _Of course not. After my time as a mercenary leader, I passed it onto my second-in-command, Nusar. As for what I do now, I keep my ears to the ground, listening, and keeping watch over this land. But no one, not even Zahrati, are fully aware of what it is I do."_

" _And yet you have seen fit make me aware." Helms stated._

" _You are the only one so far, in fact, but know that I did not choose you by chance. Your influence upon this word is great, and I had hoped that you would use it properly."_

" _You had hoped? Have I done something wrong, something that you do not agree with?"_

 _"I know full well of your position as the General of Mantle's armies. You control much power, yet I find myself disappointed in your execution of it."_

" _What?"_

" _What do you hope to accomplish with this heavy-handed maneuver? Are you so foolish to think that this trade deal has no ulterior motives?"_

" _What I am doing is for the good of this world, Osman. I had hoped that you, of all people, would understand."_

" _By exerting your will to another kingdom? I cannot begin to comprehend why such displays of power are necessary."_

" _You don't understand—"_

" _No, Henry." Osman's voice rumbled. "It is you who does not understand. There are forces that exist that you cannot even begin to fathom, yet you think you and your army will be enough to hold everything at bay."_

" _And whose fault is that, Osman?" Helms shot back. "All that I have to work with is what you have told me so many years ago, of the Queen and her pawns, and how what we are facing now would eventually happen. You told me to trust you then, Osman, and I did for quite a while. But I can not sit idly by and let what you told me to simply happen."_

" _And what makes you think what you are doing now is any better? Do you think that no one would notice if you began expanding your forces? All you are doing is letting the enemy know that we are aware of them, and thus we lose the element of surprise. All they have to do is go back into hiding and bide their time. Once we are unaware, they will simply strike again."_

" _Then tell me what I must do, Osman!" Helms said with a raised voice. "Everything that I have done, I have done for the good of our kingdoms, for humanity. If you will not tell me more, than I can only act with what little I know."_

 _He saw it in Osman's eyes, the consideration of his words. However, they were quickly concealed as Osman seemed to shut him out. The change was rapid, as Osman's posture transformed from stern to tired._

 _"As much as I want to tell you, Henry, you are not ready yet," Osman sighed. "No one is."_

" _Very well, Osman." Helms said coldly as he rose from his seat, dusting himself off. "Know that what I do from now on will be for the greater good. Do not try to stop me, or I gladly burn whatever bridges we have left."_

 _Before leaving, Helms stopped by the door._

" _I apologize for occupying your time, Osman."_

" _Henry—"_

 _"I think it would be best that you find Zahrati now. Good night."_

* * *

 **A/N: Slightly shorter chapter, but a dense and important one nonetheless. Some holes are filled, some questions are raised, and the plot continues to truck on.**

 **In regards to the title, I decided to change it from "Remnant of the Past" to "The Coming Dawn" for two reasons. The first of which was that I was never really satisfied with the title to begin with, so I had always been looking for a new one. Apologies for any possible confusion. Secondly, I was browsing other fics for RWBY, and I came across an author that also had a fic with the same name. So yeah, that wouldn't have worked out well.**

 **Added in a placeholder cover art for the fic designed by yours truly. Much sweat and tears were spent on MS Paint putting it together. Will probably replace eventually.**

 **Also changed the summary so that it would be a bit more poetic, and to emphasize what is to come.**

 **Obivos- Musk-Ox Grimm, derived from the latin name _Obivos Moschatus_. This is just one of a few new types of Grimm that I would like to introduce, alongside the Leviathan.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15:** Recklessness

* * *

"What is it this time?" Zahrati asked, taking the offered parchment from Nusar and skimming it. They sat within a large building that Nusar had appropriated from Osman when he was still their leader. Its primary purpose was to act as a storeroom for whatever extra equipment or other unwieldy objects that came their way. There was a small office of sorts in the back, and that was where the two were.

"Caravan escort to Al Ma'In, four days to the southeast. Our employer is offering quite the amount."

"Is this due to the recent trade agreements between Vacuo and Mantle?" she asked. Ever since that event, there had been a large influx of such requests, many of which were always quickly taken.

"It is."

Zahrati frowned slightly, but said nothing, which Nusar was quick to pick up on.

"Zahrati, I know you are still bitter about the last time we ran into a caravan. The one we're escorting is carrying shipments of dust. Nothing else, so relax."

"I know, Nusar." Zahrati responded. "How many men do you think we'll need this time? It's not Grimm-related, so I doubt we need too many."

"Don't disregard that just yet. There is much wealth flowing into Vacuo now, and I'll be a _matarid_ 's mother if there aren't any unsavory people who would attempt to gain that wealth, whether it be by poison or blade."

"How many then?"

"There are about forty in this caravan. I think we will be safe if we match their numbers." Nusar nodded to himself. "Find them and let them know of the details, Zahrati. The caravan departs in two days."

"Very well."

"Oh, and one more thing." Nusar said before she could leave. "Make sure you check up on your weapon. Getting sand into it like you did last time was not a good idea."

"I already have, Nusar. What mercenary would I be if I didn't take care of my weapon?"

* * *

They were friendly enough, but there was the unspoken understanding that the mercenaries were not there for small talk, aside from initial greetings at the front gates of Nazef. As such, they kept mostly to themselves, discussing dust prices and tending to the pack camels. This was how things were for the first two days as the caravan made good progress. The sun was not overly harsh, and despite a lack of communication between the two groups, there was a silent camaraderie shared between them, as only those who trekked together in a desolate wasteland could.

It was now the second night of their journey, and Zahrati found herself tending to her weapon and equipment. They had set up an impromptu camp, with multiple smokeless campfires providing dim illumination for everyone. The mercenaries around her did the same; the quiet rasp of whetstone grinding against their blades complemented the dry crackling of the tinders. Zahrati checked the leather armor under her robe as well, making sure the straps were not frayed.

"Ready for tomorrow?" A quiet voice asked next to her.

"Of course, Nusar." Zahrati answered. "Shouldn't you be preparing as well?"

"I already have. I'm just checking up on everybody; you just so happen to be the first. Osman made me promise that much.."

Zahrati sighed and smirked softly.

"I'll be fine. And besides, if all goes well, nothing will happen."

"This is the Umayya pass we're talking about, Zahrati." Nusar warned. "It's an opportune spot for ambush."

That much was true. The Umayya pass was steep and narrow canyon, running from north to south, and it impeded the progress of any who chose to venture eastwards. It was one of the places in Vacuo where millenniums of wind had not completely eroded it. And the only way to traverse it was to gradually descend into one of few entrances along its side that were formed by rockfalls and sand avalanches. It was also for that reason that opportunistic bandits chose this region to stage ambushes.

"It should be nothing I can't handle." Zahrati assured. "Nothing we can't handle."

"If Osman were to hear you saying that," Nusar chuckled, "I don't think he would have ever let you become a mercenary in the first place."

"I think I would have found my way in, in one way or another."

"Would you have now?"

Their fireside musings were cut short by a low rumbling in the sand. A quick order was given, and everyone in the camp sprung into action. The members of the caravan pressed themselves close to the caravan, while Nusar, Zahrati, and the rest fanned out away from their campfires, weapons drawn and branches hastily fashioned into torches. Zahrati's axe gleamed in the torchlight as she strained her senses to their fullest, her scotopic eyes freeing her from the reliance on light. The tremors continued for a full minute before eventually fading into stillness.

There were no further tremors that she could feel, no scent or movement out of the ordinary. All was silent, and she could only hear was the crackling of the campfires and torches, the slight breeze of wind, and the faint, natural slithering of shifting sand.

 _It was just like what happened in Yusif._

If the Grimm, were it to be them, attacked, it would have been difficult to defend both themselves and those in the caravan in such an open space. However, the fact that there had been no cries of warning or combat proved it to be unnecessary.

She turned around as she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. It was Nusar, an eyebrow raised in question.

Waiting a few seconds more, she shook her head. Any sign of danger had already disappeared, and she could sense no more. The camp returned to a subdued normality after Nusar made the order to stand down. The same could not be said for Zahrati, however.

"Nusar, I'll also take part in the first watch."

"Are you sure, Zahrati? I will instruct extra men for that. There is no need for you to do the same."

"That's good, but I would still like to."

Nusar regarded her, then nodded.

"Don't overdo it, Zahrati. Like I said earlier, we will be entering the Umayya pass tomorrow, so you'll need to be alert."

"Do you think they'll be there? The bandits?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But that's why we were hired, no?"

"I guess so."

"Don't dwell on it so much. There is only so much you can control, so don't strain yourself over what you can't."

"I see some of _alssalf_ 's wisdom has been rubbing off on you."

"Has it now? Or are you just mistaking it for common sense?"

"Whatever. Get some sleep, I'll wake you up when it's your turn."

Nusar complied with a quiet, gruff chuckle. He laid his head down and let sleep overtake him.

Zahrati rose from where she was sitting and stretched her arms and legs. Holding back a yawn, she began walking around the impromptu camp.

She checked up on the other men who were on their shift, exchanging brief small talk before continuing their watch. There were also some men from the caravan who were still awake, quietly smoking their pipes and playing what seemed to be cards. They regarded her with waves and small nods of their heads, but otherwise made no attempts to talk to her.

Returning to her campfire, she nodded to the other two people stationed there as well. She quietly looked out to the dunes in the horizon, doing what she had done so many times before.

* * *

The reprieve from the sun that long shadows of the canyon offered did little to relieve the palpable tension that permeated throughout the caravan. Few, if any words, were exchanged as they quickly made their way northwards, relying on the maps provided by the caravans to find the closest eastward exit.

The entire time, Zahrati relied more on her hearing than her sight, as any sudden noise echoed by the canyons would provide far more information than thinking she saw something among the misshapen rocks or shadows. Regardless, she did not enjoy being in this enclosed space, and found herself wishing they were on the open dunes. At least from there, she could easily sense any incoming threat.

"Sajhit, how much longer?" She heard Nusar whisper, mindful of not causing any echos.

"The exit we are looking for is close. Another hour or so, at the most." the man said after quietly unfolding his map and consulting it.

And so they continued, keeping a vigilant eye out for anything out of the ordinary. It was some time later that they came by an underpass that hooked left; it was large enough for the entire caravan to pass through. On the other side, some distance off, was the other end, light pouring into the otherwise darkened underpass. Zahrati, at the head of the caravan with Nusar and Sajhit, took a step to enter. At least, until she heard something. There was a natural flow of air that ran through, but it did not conceal the low stretching creak of some rope-like material.

Immediately, Zahrati threw her hand up in warning, halting the caravan's advance. Glancing at Nusar, she motioned for him to keep everyone where they were. Ever so slowly, she drew her axe and extended it, and she crept into the underpass.

It was dark. The only source of illumination was from the two ends of the underpass, which were some distance apart. The first thing out of place that Zahrati saw, however, was a glint of metal on the floor. Eyes quickly adjusting, she soon saw multiple weapons scattered around the area.

 _Odd._

The creaking had not ceased, and it was then that she realized the sound was coming from above. Looking up, her enhanced vision allowed her to see multiple human-like shapes, hanging upside down, completely wrapped in a shimmering white fiber.

And above that, as a faint clicking was heard, were eight beady crimson eyes.

Nusar and his men drew their weapons and backpedalled as Zahrati dove out with a shout. Immediately after, there was a loud _whumpf_ as something large landed on the floor.

" _Hayik'alam!_ " She called out to them. _Painweaver._ As it exited the underpass, they all saw it in was a freakishly large spider, each of its legs as long as a man was tall. Coarse bristles ran across its black body, and its eyes burned with the same animalistic fury that was found in all Grimm.

There was not much they could do due to the narrowness of the canyon aside from falling back. The Painweaver, on the other hand, sensed their hesitation and advanced, hissing and clicking in anticipation.

Zahrati mentally reprimanded herself. She had been so preoccupied on the possibility of a bandit ambush that she temporarily forgot to consider the Grimm. Now that she thought about it, those that were hanging upside down were probably some of the said bandits.

She brandished her axe at the Painweaver, trying to come up with a solution to deal with it. She yelped in surprise, however, when it whipped its abdomen around to face her and shot out a string of webbing, tearing the axe from her grasp. As the Painweaver turned around once more the face them, the axe clattered uselessly behind it, away from Zahrati and still attached to the webbing.

"Fall back! There's not enough space!" she heard Nusar order behind her. Sensing retreat, the Painweaver rapidly scaled the side of the canyon wall above their heads. It was only a brief yell that alerted everyone to what came next as everyone tried to dive out of the way.

The Painweaver landed once again, and everyone stared in horror as one of the members of the caravan was crushed beneath it. His face was twisted in agony as his body broke under the weight of the Grimm. It then brought its head down, and two black fangs quickly injected themselves into his neck. Immediately, the veins in the area turned black as the venom spread. Everyone recoiled as ear-splitting screams came out from his ravaged body, and what little functioning parts of his body began convulsing.

"Zahrati. Do you have a plan!?" Nusar yelled has he dove away from another landing. The Grimm wasn't as lucky this time, and it clicked and hissed in displeasure. Zahrati considered her options, which were few. Aside from her now missing axe, all she had left was pouch of fire dust, unused, a flint fire starter, and her own dagger.

That's it.

The idea was a reckless one, exceedingly so, but if she did not act now, the mercenaries and caravan would be slowly picked off in the narrow canyon. As the Painweaver readied itself for another strike, Zahrati watched it closely.

"Zahrati!" Nusar cried out in warning, but she had already begun running towards the Grimm as it landed. It turned to face her, having missed again, and gladly accepted the prey that ran towards it.

Before it could run her down and impale her with its fangs, Zahrati jumped over the arachnid and ran the bag of fire dust into its back with the dagger. The Painweaver screeched loudly as it began futiley spinning around in place, but its fangs couldn't reach her.

"Fall back!" she heard Nusar order as the Painweaver began to ascend the side of the canyon again, far out of harm's reach and with Zahrati it tow. She struggled to hold on as the Painweaver shook to and fro as it climbed, attempting to rid itself of her. Fortunately, the dagger embedded into the Painweaver's sternum was firmly lodged in, and the shaking was causing the fire dust to spill out. Running on adrenaline, she managed to take out her firestarter with one hand, and began striking it on the dagger that she held onto.

Come on. Come on!

Zahrati didn't know whether to be pleased or worried when the sparks from the firestarter finally ignited with dust that was being thrown around everywhere by the shaking. She watched in wonder as one of the sparks connected with a granule of dust, which turned into a small wisp of flame. The Painweaver's screeching was drowned out as the wisp raced back towards the pouch and exploded.

She watched as the Painweaver lost its grip on the canyon wall and began to slip off, but it didn't cross her mind that she, too, had been caught in the blast. Luckily, a few of the men had reacted fast enough to catch her as she fell. The Painweaver, on the other hand, landed on its back, legs began flailing in pain.

"Now!" Nusar commanded, and the mercenaries rushed as best as they could towards the Painweaver. With it incapacitated from the explosion, it was short work hacking off its limbs and bleeding it out. Zahrati sighed as its eyes faded and the adrenaline wore off. It was then, with a wheezing gasp, that the pain returned to her, forcing her to clutch her chest.

Nusar was quick to lay her down, where he gently probed and pressed with his fingers, stopping whenever she cried out.

"Will she be alright?" one of the mercenaries asked, holding onto the axe that they had recovered.

"Six fractured ribs and some moderate burns. Al'hab, bring the bandages!" he called out.

"That was stupid and incredibly reckless of you, Zahrati," Nusar reprimanded quietly as he lifted the robe and undid the straps on her leather chest armor, leaving her with only a thin shirt. He sat her up gently and, with a finesse borne of years of field experience, quickly bandaged her torso. Loose enough so as not to restrict her breathing, but tight enough to prevent any sudden movement. As soon as he finished, he re-donned her armor and robe for her.

"Let's move." Nusar ordered the the rest of the men as he assisted her to a standing position. "The sooner we get out of here, the better. Sajhit, lead the way."

* * *

Al Ma'In, as many in Vacuo would consider it, was one of few cities that could come close to being Nazef's equal. As the city came into view, it was quite obvious that both cities shared the characteristic of a high city wall. However, there was also a general consensus that, as the furthest major eastern city of the kingdom, Al Ma'In was not as civilized.

Zahrati considered the events of the day before as the members of the caravan completed their transaction. She winced as she felt a low throbbing while she waited with the others for the payments to be collected. She had heard of Painweavers before, but only from stories that Osman and other traveling merchants had told her. But that was what they were supposed to be. Stories, and nothing else.

 _But to think that we would run into one._

Nusar tossed a pouch at her, which she caught effortlessly. Opening it slightly to take a look, she confirmed the payment within and nodded. As the others went their own ways to spend their income on their well-deserved break, Zahrati wandered around the city, looking for anything of interested. Her pace was slow and light, not wanting to disturb her injuries.

It was a little while later when she found a small, quaint tavern on the edge of the city. It was vacant save for a lone barkeep. She nodded in thanks when he placed a mug of drink and some small plates of refreshments onto the table.

 _I wonder what alssalf would think of the whole situation? Probably another lecture, to be sure._

No sooner had she begun to relax, however, did a small figure barrel into the tavern. Both she and the barkeep winced as he crashed into a table, sending chairs flying as well.

Two lanky men followed soon after, eyes locked onto the intruder.

"Thought you could run from us, eh? Give it back to us, and I'll take just your hand."

The intruder, a young boy, spotted Zahrati, and quickly dashed over to hide behind her. One of the men tilted his head slightly in question, and the two approached her.

"What seems to be the problem?" She asked, taking note of the daggers at their belts.

"That little rat behind you stole something from me. If you would be so kind, give him back to us." the other leered at her.

"What did he steal?"

"A necklace."

"It's not yours!" the boy retorted. Zahrati turned around and looked at him. He was covered in dirt, but his skin was pale, a characteristic unheard of among native Vacuo people.

 _A foreigner?_

"If you would please return him to us," one of them reminded her, although now a hand rested lightly on his dagger. It was a delicate situation, but Zahrati wanted to end it before it escalated any further.

"How much for the necklace?" she asked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"More than anything you could offer." he said.

"Are you certain?"

"Quite so, I don't th-"

His words were cut short as a pouch of coins hit the table to his right.

"You can have that for both the necklace and the boy."

"Now hold on. That is quite the sum coming from a lady such as yourself. But it isn't quite enough."

"Is it not?"

"Unfortunately not," he answered, "we only just acquired that boy from some… acquaintances of ours. He is a foreigner, and so he is worth far more than you can offer." His face then formed into a leer.

"On second thought," He took a liberal gander of her from head to toe, "if you were to come with us, I could possibly reconsider. Perhaps you could, if you were willing, also help our acquaintances _reconsider_ as well."

Zahrati hid her rising disgust at the implication as the two looked her over.

"You have money, and you also have a face and body to match." The other nodded in agreement. "Come with us, and we'll grant you your wish, and so much more."

"In that case, I'll have to refuse."

"Oh? Then we are at an impasse."

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean? What will you d-"

There was no time to react as one of them shot out of the door, courtesy of a firm kick to the chest. The other found himself pressed against a wall, dagger digging into his throat.

It was difficult for her to concentrate. Her disgust mixed with a sudden flare of pain from her injury, and her pupils immediately narrowed, much to the shock of the pinned man.

"I will take the boy and the necklace, and you two will leave."

He nodded in panic, and Zahrati emphasized her point by pressing the dagger to where it drew a line of blood, then roughly threw him out the door as well.

With a hand over her torso, she walked over to where she had thrown her coin pouch, and poured some out.

"For the food and damages." She told the barkeep, who had been hiding behind the bar. He nodded quietly and came over to pocket the coins.

"You," she turned her attention to the boy. "Come with me. And make sure you have your necklace."

The wide-eyed boy, noting her narrowed irises, nodded mutely and followed her out the door, where the two men were still groaning in pain.

Zahrati sighed again through the pain in her torso. There was going to be much explaining to do, and Nusar and Osman would certainly not be happy about this.

* * *

 **A/N: A foreigner in Vacuo? I wonder what this will mean for Zahrati. Anyways, not much to say, except that I think the Painweaver was a pretty cool idea. You've got the Deathstalker, an arachnid Grimm, so why not have a Painweaver, another arachnid Grimm. Part of the inspiration for it was me re-watching LOTR, and the whole bit with Shelob was quite intriguing.**

 **scotopic- vision in dim or no light**

 ** _Matarid_ \- rough Arabic translation of "Stalker of Death"**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16:** Commencement

* * *

"Battalion, attention!"

Everyone snapped to attention, bodies straight and uniforms sharp. It was the big day, after all. The sun had reached its apex, bathing everyone gathered at the center of the outpost in a warm light.

Captain Braxis stood on the platform overlooking them, with the rest of the platoon sergeants behind him. It was funny, in a way. Their conscription ended the same way it began, with Braxis addressing them.

"It has been a full year now since you have begun your service to your kingdom. Through the harsh sun, the unrelenting rain, and the bitter cold, you have forged yourselves into warriors, capable of defending and upholding all that you hold dear. You have learned the essentials of combat, and although your training was done under the structure and supervision of Mantle, you will proudly serve under the banner of Vale."

Braxis paused, his eyes sweeping across the crowd, regarding them sharply.

"But this is only the beginning. You still have three years in which you must use what you have learned here in the defense of your kingdom, and during that time we will train even more soldiers like you. In time, humanity will no longer have to live in fear of the Grimm, and we will be able to have true peace."

A few cheers went up, but Braxis did not mind. He simply waited for them to be silenced by the others.

"With that being said, after this commencement is over, you will be assigned to one of the active duty bases throughout the kingdom of Vale. From there, you will be under the command of various regiment commanders, and you will lead patrols and strikes against the Grimm with both Valean and Mantlean soldiers. It will not be easy, but I trust that your training will come through."

He then lifted his arm forward, gesturing to the main gates. Heads turned, and they all saw lines of carriages and wagons.

"There will be transportation provided for your journey to your new base. Some will take you a train station instead, and from there you will journey to the further bases. You will have until sunset to prepare your belongings or make any final visits to Halitus, after which the carriages will depart. If you do not make it in time, you must find your own way there. Anyone who is late to their assigned base will be charged with desertion and be summarily tried in a military court of law. Also, as I have told you when you first began your training, your equipment has been paid in full. You are free to do with them as you wish, so as long as they still follow standard equipment protocols. That also applies to any new equipment you wish to acquire as well."

Everyone quietly blanched at the former part, yet Julius and Donovan smirked at the latter part. Braxis straightened his face and shifted his stance to stand at attention.

"That is all I have to say. It has been an honor watching you all grow and develop as the defenders of your kingdom. For the last time under my command, you are dismissed!"

"HOO-AH!" the battalion roared in response.

* * *

"So what are we here for?" Connor asked. The two had asked him if he wanted in on the last visit to Halitus, which he agreed to.

"I have something to pick up at the metal shop I've been frequenting," Julius replied as they walked down the street.

"You mean the telegraph?"

"Yeah. That and something else."

"Anything else we're doing besides that?

"Probably go to the _Gambit_ to have one last drink," Donovan responded, his hands folded behind his head as he walked.

"Might not be the best idea to do that just before we depart."

"Buzzkill." Donovan rolled his eyes, and Connor smirked.

They reached the metal shop, and Julius pushed the door open. The shopkeeper, Sal, waved and smiled at them, a marked difference from Julius' first visit a year ago when he regarded the three soldiers-in-training with mild suspicion.

"So this is it, kid?" the old man asked, setting aside some sheets of inventory paper.

"Unfortunately. But who knows? Maybe when I'm done serving I can swing by again, show you what other crazy things I've come up with," Julius chuckled.

"I'm sure you will," he agreed. "I assume you're here for 'that' as well?"

Julius nodded, and Sal went into a small room behind the counter. Paying no heed to Connor's confused look, Julius waited with arms crossed. They heard the shopkeep sorting and moving boxes around, and eventually he came out with a long, thin box. With great care, he set it down on the counter.

"What's that?" Connor asked.

"You'll see," Donovan replied.

Julius popped open the box, and Connor saw a sword within a white, lustrous sheath and a black flanged mace with a fire dust crystal adorning it, cushioned with a bed of straw.

"I'm surprised how well they've held up." Donovan nodded in appreciation, taking the mace and giving it a few swings. "Can't wait to actually use this."

"Of course they held up fine. I've been maintaining them, and I check on them every other time we come to town," Julius said, holding and examining the other weapon. Needless to say, Connor found himself astonished as Donovan twirled and swung the mace with ease.

"Light as a feather now," Donovan mused.

Connor made to comment, but his attention turned to Julius when he drew the sword from its sheathe, which was curiously strapped to his forearm. Connor's mouth went agape when the sheathe then expanded with a solid click, turning it into an admirable heater shield.

"You… How… What?"

"Hmm? Oh, these are the weapons I made for Donovan and me," Julius stated matter-of-factly.

"How…when did you have time to make it?" he asked in shock. It was quite the challenge wrapping his head around this revelation.

"Oh, uh, I actually forged these before we were conscripted," Julius explained. "But what was it, Article Nine, Section Two? The one about having prohibited stuff during basic training? After we read that bit on day one, we knew keeping them under our bed wouldn't have worked."

"So you decided to hide illegal weapons in town?" Connor exclaimed, aghast.

"Let's not go so far as to call them _illegal_ , Connor," Donovan interjected, mace resting on his shoulder. "Can't really blame us for not knowing about it beforehand."

"And the shopkeeper just let you stash them here?"

"Uh, he's right there," Julius pointed out. "Anyways, I ran some errands for him on the side to let me keep the weapons here, and he was quite fascinated with my telegraph as well."

Connor sighed. It was incredulous, it really was, and yet somehow he did not find himself surprised at all.

"What a day."

"If I may offer some recompense, Connor," Donovan began. "You could wind down and process this information with a nice mug of—"

"No," Connor declared. "We are not going to the _Gambit."_

"Well… I think I heard someone in town say that the maple ale is available again."

* * *

"Corporal Damascus. Has a nice ring to it." Donovan chewed with the title in his mouth before rinsing it off with a swig.

"Really? Never thought about it that way," Connor answered, swirling his own mug. There were many things Connor knew he could go without in his life, but he had the sinking suspicion that the season's first batch of maple ale would not be one of them.

"That's not important," Julius pointed out. "What is important, however, is that you received a promotion before most of us."

"I mean, he always excelled during training, so I wouldn't be surprised that Orso probably put in a good word for him." Donovan noted.

Connor said nothing as the other two mused about his promotion. If anything, a weight had lifted from his soldier, as he had finally been re-instated to his proper rank. _No more of this "Private" business._

"So where are you being deployed?" The question brought him out of his own reprieve.

"I don't know yet. All I got on my paper was to wait for further instruction. That probably means I'll be leaving after you guys." _No doubt to finally conclude this year-long task._ Not that he would relish it, of course. In his time undercover, he found himself getting along well with Julius and Donovan. Not to say that they didn't get along with anyone else, but it was just that he found himself looped into their shenanigans more often than not, and it was something he found himself enjoying. Immensely.

Sure, he and Finnegan were friends, but there was always an intangible barrier between them, one that was forged of years of military professionalism. With the other two, however, he felt himself at ease, something that he hadn't felt for a long time.

"Ooh, something fancy for the corporal?" Donovan goaded.

"Shut up. How about you two? Where are you being deployed?"

"A city called Castinis. South and a slight bit east of the capital city of Vale. I think it's at the southern foot of the mountain range east of there."

"Isn't that one of the larger crossroad towns?"

"Sounds like it. Seems interesting enough, especially since most of the regional trade there occurs just before Vale itself."

"Not bad." _I wonder where I'll be assigned to next._

"Oh shit, we should get going," Donovan interrupted, quickly downing his drink. They rose, put the money on the table, and swiftly walked out.

"How much time do we have left?" Julius asked, half-walking, half-jogging.

"About two hours," Donovan grunted, the box of weapons bouncing atop shoulder, "give or take."

"Don't tell me you two didn't prepare your stuff beforehand?" Connor bemoaned, rolling his eyes.

"We did. It's just a matter of packing them, you see."

Connor had all of his belongings ready, and so when they returned to base, he assisted them in their packing. Most of the people on the outpost were already ready to go, and so there were few people left in the barracks to comment on the telegraph and the weapons. They finished just as the sun began to set.

In no time, they were out of the barracks and at the front gates. Julius and Donovan had their bags at their feet, and Connor stood besides them.

"Well, I guess this is it then?" Julius asked.

"Not really. I know where you both are stationed at, so I can just send you letters to keep in touch."

"Yeah, it's not like you're going off to another kingdom or anything, so let us know when you get stationed," Donovan offered.

The three chuckled, and Connor chose that moment to not answer the question. The irony of that statement was not lost on him.

 _If only they knew._

They then shared a brief, bittersweet moment of silence. It had been an interesting year, to be sure, and it was something that they had shared together.

"Yeah, uh, Connor. Keep in touch." Julius offered his hand with a smile, which Connor shook in turn. Donovan shook his hand as well, and it was only the final boarding call that spurred them into action as they took their belongings and jogged off, waving to Connor. He waited until the carriages and wagons had departed before he turned around and headed back into the base.

* * *

They were in one of the larger meeting rooms in the building at the center of the outpost. However, the audience present tipped Connor off that something was amiss. Aside from Captain Braxis and a few of the platoon sergeants, the rest of the people in there were the undercover soldiers.

"I would like to congratulate you for your exemplary performance. It must have been quite a strange task that was assigned to you when you first arrived, but you have managed to pull it off without a problem," Braxis said.

"Thank you, sir," the soldiers voiced.

"That being said, I would have been more than happy to commend you and send you all back home to Mistral, but I'm afraid something has come up," Braxis paused to let it sink in before continuing.

"I have recently received a missive from the Castinis border base. It seems that they have been dealing with a rash of Grimm in their patrols for quite a while, and they are slowly losing men. They are requesting additional forces to bolster their defences, and I have seen fit to assign this segment Seventh Infantry Division to that region to fulfill their request. I hope you do not have any qualms with that."

"No sir."

If anything, Connor has missed the thrill of live combat, not that he would voice that opinion out loud. The training that the conscripts had done with the Grimm were extremely limited and supervised, where most confrontations occurred against small packs of Creeps, easily caught unaware and shredded apart with gunfire.

"Good. The rest of the Seventh that came to assist in training already knows of this. As for you all, I must bear the unfortunate burden of asking you to retain your undercover identities. There have been quite a few of the conscripts that were sent there."

Not only that, but that was where Julius and Donovan were assigned to as well. A part of him was glad that he would be able to meet them again and another part of him dreaded having to come up with a story of how he got deployed there. But most of all, a part of him worried for them, given the circumstances that they were being sent in.

"Sir," Connor inquired, "How bad exactly is the situation in Castinis?"

"It is a joint effort of both Mantlean and Valean military forces, so the men there are holding up well enough for the time being. At the very least, the citizens there are not yet aware of how serious the situation is getting. If everything goes well, it will stay that way," Braxis answered. "Will that be all, Corporal Damascus?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any other questions?" Braxis asked, eyes scanning over the rest of the soldiers. "No? Alright then. Make sure your things are ready for departure tomorrow at oh-five-hundred. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

A knock on the door grabbed his attention. He raised his head from the roster of new conscripts in his office. There were quite a few of them, and he hoped that it would be enough.

"Enter." he said.

"Sergeant Muller, sir, your request for additional soldiers has been met."

"I am aware, Corporal Erikson. I'm holding the roster right now." Muller said, wondering why Erikson was wasting his time.

"Not that, sir. Lieutenant Wustorf sent me to update you on his request."

"Well, what is it then?"

"Captain Braxis from the Halitus outpost is sending over the portion of the Seventh Infantry Division that came to Vale to assist in the training. They will arrive tomorrow by sundown."

"The Seventh Infantry Division?"

"Yes, sir."

Muller leaned back in his chair and released a breath. This was good. More than good, in fact. With an influx of properly trained soldiers, he felt himself slightly more at ease. He would be able to lead larger patrols, and that would hopefully lead to less casualties. Not only that, but less letters to write and less superiors to answer to, which had been wearing him thin.

"Very well. It seems the tides are turning in our favor now. Anything else, corporal?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

* * *

 **A/N: So the training arc is complete for Connor, Julius, and Donovan, and now that have been sent off to active duty. That's fine and all, but then there's Sergeant Muller. Oh boy. What'll happen then?**

 **As for last chapter, made a small typo where I accidentally called Mantle "Atlas" (whoops).**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17:** Finding a Way Home

* * *

"Welcome, welcome. Please, come in." Osman smiled.

"You do not need to tell me twice, my friend," Maysan laughed, entering the room and walking past Osman. "The smell of Zahrati's cooking would have brought me in regardless."

"Of that I do not doubt," Osman chuckled. "Edwin!"

"Coming!" a voice called out in reply.

He appeared by Osman's side, his skin fair and his hair light brown. His appearance was far cleaner than when Zahrati had found him at the tavern, with his plain, but cleaner clothing.

"He is Maysan," Osman pointed out while looking down towards the boy. "And a friend. Say hello to him."

"Hello, mister Maysan," Edwin said quietly.

"Hello there, Edwin," Maysan responded _,_ pronouncing his name _Ed-ween._

"Go to Zahrati and see if she needs any help with the cooking."

Edwin nodded and ran off to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight, Maysan's smile lowered until it was one of quiet confusion. He looked at Osman, then towards the kitchen.

"Does he live here?" he whispered, eyes still looking in confusion. Edwin walked out, and placed a plate of flatbread onto the low table. He then went back into the kitchen.

"As of recently, yes." Osman nodded.

"I know you frequent the bazaars often and tell stories to the children there, but this isn't like when you took in Zahrati. Lines have to be draw-"

Edwin did not register what Maysan was saying, having been pre-occupied with helping Zahrati bring the food out of the kitchen. Maysan, on the other hand, clearly registered Osman's hand as it chopped into the backside of his head.

"If you would let me explain, Maysan," Osman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "then maybe you'll understand. We shall talk about it after we have breakfast."

"Right, right." Maysan nodded sheepishly, massaging his head.

In a matter of minutes, the food had been set out. Along with the plate of flatbread, there were many other dishes as well. Among them were a large bowl of seasoned rice and lentils, grape leaves stuffed with tomatoes and other savory ingredients, a cheese pastry flavored with sweet syrup. Completing the table was a variety of simple sauces as well.

"This looks amazing, Zahrati," Maysan praised. "To think that you would know how to make so many dishes!"

"Thank you, Maysan. _Alssalf_ always wanted me to stop spending money on food at the bazaars, and I enjoy cooking as well."

As they began to break into their meal, Edwin's eyes locked themselves onto one of the small bowls, which did not go unnoticed by Osman.

"Is something the matter, Edwin?"

"What's is that?" Edwin pointed to the bowl he was looking at, which had a few round white balls sitting in olive oil.

"That is _labneh_ , a, er… cheese? Cream?" Osman tried to explain.

"Cream?" he asked, looking at the thick, viscous material in the small dish next to the flatbread. It had a slightly tangy smell, and the color of the olive oil didn't help much with the appearance.

Maysan had to hold back the urge to smile when he noticed Zahrati, who had stopped mid-chew. Despite her confidence, it was refreshing to see her be so unnerved by something as simple as a child's opinion on food.

"Spread it on the bread. It will be good, trust me. Zahrati made it for you."

Edwin regarded the food warily but cautiously took some and did so. He took a bite and chewed slowly, then nodded with his own smile.

"It's good!"

"Are you alright, Maysan?" Osman asked, turning his attention to the now coughing Maysan.

"Yes, yes, quite alright. Ate a bit too fast," Maysan reassured. The relief of Zahrati's face had been so palpable that he almost burst into laughter. Fortunately, he had managed to turn it into a coughing fit.

The rest of breakfast passed with no further problems, with food and talk flowing freely among them. In no time, most of the dishes had been put away, leaving only four satisfied people.

"Come on, Edwin, we need to go to the bazaar," Zahrati said as she rose. Taking Edwin's hand, they walked out of the door and proceeded into the heart of the city. Osman and Maysan, on the other hand, took out their pipes and returned to their previous conversation.

"So, Osman, what _is_ the story regarding Edwin?" Maysan asked.

"From what Zahrati had told me, she had just come back from a caravan escort in Al Ma'In. While taking some time off, she managed to save this boy from two hostile men. Slavers, I assume."

"Was he a slave? The boy, I mean."

"In most circumstances, I would have believed so. However, he has physical attributes that no one in Vacuo would naturally have. Furthermore, the circumstances surrounding him would have me believe otherwise."

"So a foreigner?"

"Indeed. But the question is how he ended up here, in Nazef, in Vacuo. I had thought that maybe he was a child of one of the Mantleans here following the agreement of the deal. But after I talked to him, I learned that he was from Vale. He didn't say much else afterwards, so I chose to not push him on it."

"As in the kingdom of Vale?" Maysan asked, mouth agape. "How in the world did he get here then? Was he kidnapped?"

"It is a possibility. As for why, I can only guess. There are occasional instances of foreigners ending up on the slave market. But at his age? I'm surprised he didn't died," Osman mused. "After he recovered, Zahrati has been taking him around Nazef, both to preoccupy him as well as look for a way to bring him back home."

"That definitely will not be easy. The furthest out most people are willing to go is Al Ma'In. Anything further east borders on uncharted land. Are you sure Zahrati will be able to do this?" Maysan questioned worriedly.

"Knowing Zahrati, she will find a way. She is resourceful, and has learned much under me and Nusar."

"But do you think she should do this? Why do so much for this one boy, anyways?"

"I can only do so much to help her, but I still support her decision. She was a girl once, but now she is a grown woman. I trust her to make her own choices," Osman concluded. Maysan nodded slowly. This was not his matter, so he accepted that he had no say on the decision.

"So, how have things been with Mantle since the deal passed?" Osman inquired, turning the conversation around."

"Hm?" Maysan took a moment to consider the question. "They are adhering to the deal for now, but there have been slight issues that have arisen."

"Oh? How so?"

"They're starting to exceed their weekly quotas. Nothing significant yet, but hopefully it will not continue. They have been notified to cut back slightly on the dust extraction, but we haven't heard back from them since," Maysan explained.

"Are you going to notify them again?" Osman asked.

"We'll have to. At the rate they're going, the dust they're acquiring will eventually exceed the terms set in the agreement, and the breach in this agreement may very well create a diplomatic problem between the two kingdoms."

"I see."

"But why would they need so much dust?" Maysan wondered out loud. "Maybe they're attempting to expand their kingdom within the continent of Solitas, but they have ample dust reserves within their mountains to rely upon."

"That is indeed cause for concern," Osman mused. Given his previous meeting with Helms, Osman had somewhat of an idea. But nothing was for certain just yet, and Osman did not want to tell Maysan just yet, lest he cause Maysan worry.

"What do you think should be done?"

"For the time being, continue with what you have been doing. If the sultan has not been notified, make sure that he is," Osman offered. "I hope this is only oversight on the side of Mantle. However, if this a sign of a more worrying pattern, I will have to consider it more before I recommend any other action."

"Very well."

* * *

Among the orderly chaos of the bazaars, Zahrati and Edwin found themselves at one of the request boards scattered around the city. They were a common sight, given the rougher nature of Vacuo, where mercenaries were quite often hired to fulfill requests that could not be completed by the general populace.

"Any luck?" Edwin asked, looking at the variety of offers and requests. Exterminations, transport, escort, bounties, and so on.

"So far, no," Zahrati responded in kind, looking specifically for transport offers.

Saving Edwin came with its own costs, not that she regretted it. Having to take care of him during his stay at their home required time and effort, which she could no longer devote to her mercenary duties. Nusar had initially protested, but a combination of Zahrati's stubbornness and the strange circumstances surrounding Edwin silenced him.

Osman, on the other had, was far more accepting, which had surprised Zahrati. She had expected him to react somewhat like Nusar, but then remembered what Osman had told her after her journey to Yusif.

With the initial difficulties out of the way, she began taking care of Edwin. He was initially quiet, both due to his vivid first impression of Zahrati as a violent woman and Osman as a mysterious old man. However, he began to open up more as those impressions slowly faded away.

From what Edwin had told them, he was from the kingdom of Vale, and had a family as well.

Once Osman had learned of that, he and Zahrati began preparations for Edwin's return. Which was why they were in the bazaar. One was to pick up more supplies, and the other was to look for transport to the east. Vacuo and Vale were not too closely knit as kingdoms, so transportation that far east were few and far in between.

"There's nothing here. Let's move on," Zahrati told Edwin.

Eventually, they walked into a small building, one that was covered from wall to wall with traveling gear and other desert paraphernalia. There was a dusty smell of leather and parchments in the air, and it was not an unwelcomed one.

"Welcome, _sayidati,_ " the kindly owner began as they entered. "How may I help you today?"

"I'm looking for a map of the kingdom of Vale," Zahrati answered. The smile on the owner's face faltered a bit, and he hummed in consideration.

"An odd request, to be sure," he commented. "Give me a moment, please. I will see what I have."

"Thank you."

Zahrati turned around, only for her eyes to widen as she saw Edwin reach for a scimitar mounted on a wooden stand. She didn't notice that he had wandered off.

"Edwin!" she whispered. "Don't touch that!"

His hand quickly retracted, and he went over to her side, just as the owner came back with three rolls of maps under his arm.

"Anything specific that you're looking for? These three are the only ones I have, but they're slightly old. There is one for discontinued trade routes, one for topography, and the last one is of cities and towns."

"The one with the cities and towns. May I take a quick look?"

"Of course."

Zahrati unfurled the map, letting the gathered dust escape. After verifying the quality of the map, she nodded, rolled it up, and paid the appropriate amount for it.

By now, it had reached noon, and the two decided to get lunch. They stopped by one of the many food stalls, where seats were available. Zahrati absentmindedly ate her food as she looked over the map, with Edwin looking over on the side.

"Which town was it again? I'm not so good with these names,t" Zahrati asked, trying to locate the town that he had mentioned before. What was it called again?

Edwin pulled the map towards him and pored over it. His eyes scanned up and down, and after a moment his finger settled onto the map.

"There."

There was a large dot with ornate text in the center of the map, denoting it as the capital of the kingdom of Vale, which also oddly happened to be called Vale. Zahrati's eyes focused on Edwin's finger, which rested south and a bit east of the capital, marked with simpler text.

"Castinis."

* * *

 **A/N: A short chapter this time. Apologies. First finals begin in three days, and I've been swamped in studying and finishing assignments. Such is the life of a student in a quarter-system academic year. Three quarters a year, 3-4 classes a quarter, a final for each class. So yeah, 9-12 finals per year, and I'm on my last set. Help me.**

 **So based on TedOrAlive2's review, I had added some additional reasoning as to why it's taking so long to get to the war. It's on chapter 11, where I first talk about the pacing of the story. For those of you who have read up to this point, thank you so much for putting up with it. As you can see at the end of this chapter, all the pieces are finally in place for the "team" to start to come together. Your perseverance in this fic is finally starting to pay off.**

 ** _sayidati_ \- miss/madam/lady**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18:** Night Patrol

* * *

 _Dear Mom and Dad,_

 _It's been awhile since I was the one to start a letter. No need to worry, I haven't done anything so drastic as to cause worry. Yet. If anything, you should look forward to receiving two letters. One from me, and one from Donovan. Why, you might ask? We've been assigned to the same active base in Castinis, but we're in different platoons. Donovan is with Connor at Platoon Nineteen, and I'm in Platoon Twenty-two with a few other acquaintances. There's no meaning behind the numbers, it's just that every platoon past sixteen has a certain number of conscripts mixed in with the rest of the soldiers, which are already a mix of Valean and Mantlean soldiers. It's the same for every other active border base across the kingdom._

 _Speaking of Connor, it was quite the surprise when we learned that he was also stationed here. Since he had been promoted to the rank of Corporal, we had assumed the commanding officer would have some other task for them. As it turns out, they're going to be serving as assistant squad leaders within each of our platoons. He's always been more of a quiet person, but it was certainly quite interesting watching him bluster when he saw us again._

 _For the past year we've been training under Mantlean command, and it's quite jarring to see the difference between that and Vale's command. On one hand, Mantle's soldiers are far more disciplined, but the Valean soldiers have a spirit that the Mantlean's seem to lack. Their stiffness is sometimes unbearable, but for the sake of fighting the Grimm, I'll keep that thought to myself. As for the weapons, we're finally allowed to use them. At least, as long as I keep the shield in its sheath form and Donovan keeps his mace as a backup weapon. The base itself if quite interesting as well. There are cannons and other weapons mounted on the walls for defensive purposes, but I have yet to see them being used. The town is far larger than Halitus as well, might as well just call it a city._

 _I'll wrap up the letter for now. Night watch begins soon, and Sergeant Muller isn't someone who's fond of tardiness. Stay warm and take care of yourselves._

 _Love,_

 _Julius_

Julius fanned the letter to dry, sealed it in his envelope, and put it into the chest by his bed. He would have to send it later. For the time being, it was time for his night watch. He stepped out of the barracks , his breath fogging the air in front of him. Nodding to the person he was replacing, he quickly make his way to the base wall. There, he spotted one of his platoon-mates.

"Dylan," Julius whispered, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the quiet night.

"Julius," he responded with a grunt. The Valean soldier was older than Julius, and his dark brown hair was contrasted with a strip of white hair. There was also rough stubble on his face, making him appear more tired than he looked. That being said, night watch in the dead of the night would do that to anyone.

"How've you been holding up?" Julius asked.

"Could be better, could be worse. You?"

"A bit nervous."

"Did you call Sergeant Rosenberg 'sir'?" Dylan quipped. They both chuckled at the reference. Rosenberg was a female commanding officer, one of the only ones stationed in the kingdom of Vale. She had a cold demeanor matched only by her icy gaze, both of which were unnerving. When the conscripts had been transferred, some poor sap had panicked and accidentally called her "sir". Most people there that day swore an ungodly chill went down their spines as she fixated her eyes onto the fool. Julius did not hear from him again.

"Goodness, no," Julius began. "It's just that I have a patrol tomorrow, and it's not the standard one."

"Ah, I see. First night patrol?"

"Yes."

"That's tough, kid." Carver nodded. "Not going to lie, but it's going to be nerve-wracking for anyone during their first time out there."

"What about you?"

"Me? I was scared shitless," Carver scoffed. "Too much rustling around us, but there was nothing to be seen. Everywhere you go there are shadows, and no one knows which one has Grimm hiding in them. I guess you could say it gets a little easier as you do more of them, but who the hell am I kidding?"

Julius closed his eyes as his breathing and heartbeat quickened. The rational part of him attempted to reason with him. The night patrols were necessary, as Grimm were still active during that time. He was going to be in a patrol squad, and as long as he stuck to the formations, he would be safe. The other irrational part of him attempted to wrest back control, urging him to run far away. The mental image of a Beowulf bursting out from behind a tree did little to inspire confidence.

"No need to scare him, Private Carver." A voice carried over to them as a figure approached.

"Sergeant Muller, Sir!" Dylan snapped to attention, and Julius did so as well a split-second later.

"You may leave us."

"With all due respect, sir, I still have night watch."

"You are hereby relieved of your post for the night, Private Carver." Muller ordered. "Go get some rest. Understood?"

"Y-Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Carver stuttered, quickly disappearing into the night as he headed back into his barracks.

"Are you alright, Private Arc?"

"Yes sir," Julius answered, although his voice still wavered.

"I understand your apprehension, but as long as you remember what you have learned, you'll generally be safe."

"Generally?" Julius' voice hitched. The implications of the word "generally" did not sit well with him.

"Sometimes there are abnormalities in the patrols, but they are few and far in between. In those times, our training is the only thing we can rely on."

"And what happened when those abnormalities occurred?"

"I lost good men."

Silence reigned, and their breaths were visible in the cold, dark blanket of night.

"Let me see your weapon." Muller spoke.

Julius complied and unstrapped the weapon from his belt. Muller hummed as he drew the sword, then surprised Julius by strapping the sheath and expanding the shield.

"A good weapon, with a surprise hiding in plain sight," Muller commented, hefting the shield. "It will serve you well." He then retracted it and re-sheathed the sword, giving it back to Julius.

"I won't lie either. It will be unnerving, and for good reason. As much as you wish the Grimm to leave you alone, those lines of thought will only do the opposite. Your doubts and worries will draw them to you, so you must learn to reign in your emotions and trust completely in your fellow soldiers." Muller explained. "That, and your training and equipment."

"I don't know if I can do that, sir."

"You'll have to, Private Arc," Muller stated. "I will expect no less from a soldier in my platoon.

When Julius did not respond, Muller continued.

"This isn't about you anymore, Private Arc. And as long as you serve here, it never will. I understand your fears and doubts, but you must put them aside if you are to protect your fellow soldiers when the time comes."

Julius nodded mutely, returning the salute that Muller sent him, then he resumed his watch.

* * *

The branches snapped underfoot as the squad traversed the forest in formation, accompanied by the light clanking of metal armor over their winter uniforms. There was little illumination save the dim moon, which cast long shadows over the trees in the forest.

Julius tensed as he heard the howling echo across the forest. He raised his rifle and switched the safety off immediately, scanning the area in front of him in a cone. He didn't notice that no one else followed suit.

"Easy, Private Arc," Sergeant Muller ordered gruffly as he pushed Julius' barrel down. "Just the wolves."

"Yeah. Just the wolves," Julius gasped. His heart was pounding, but he mentally berated himself for overreacting.

"Move to the center of the squad. We'll stop for a break in a bit," Muller said. "Corporal Roy, switch places with Private Arc."

"Yes, sir."

They continued to march on, finally stopping to rest after two hours. The camp, if it could even be called that, was simply a gathering of men in a clearing within the forest. There were a few smokeless fires set to provide illumination, but did little to warm the soldiers, who huddled together. The faint crackling was accompanied only by an occasional rustle of armor and uniform. The less attention, the better. There were a few pairs that stood apart from the platoon some distance away, tasked with keeping watch as the others rested, and they rotated shifts every twenty minutes. Some attempted to fruitlessly warm themselves near the fire, others checked on their weapons with frigid fingers, and a few tried to catch some shut-eye against a tree.

Julius watched from afar with his partner, Troy DeMarco. From the short time that they had trained together within the platoon, the sturdy man proved to be quite the shot, even possibly better than Julius. Despite his size, he was quiet, and always moved in a slow, mechanical manner.

A soft rustling alerted them. Two rifles went up to eye level, followed by two soft clicks as the safeties switched off. At first, there was nothing to see in the darkened woods in front of them. However, their barrels swiveled to the right as slight movement was spotted, then all became still. The soldiers behind them rose and followed suit, readying their weapons for a possible confrontation.

A snout poked from a tree thirty meters off, followed by two pinpoint eyes that glowed.

Yellow eyes.

Julius eyes remained wide as his rifle remained locked on the animal, and DeMarco slowly exhaled from his nostrils. The wolf slinked out behind the tree and quickly trotted away from the soldiers. Behind it were a number of cubs, who followed closely behind.

DeMarco raised a fist into the air, the signal to hold.

"All cle-"

His call was cut short as a far-off yelp was heard. The soldiers watched in surprise as the wolf, with the same cubs, came sprinting back towards them. Past them.

"What?"

Heads turned from the wolves that ran back and towards the forest in front of them. Rifles raised as a new set of howls sounded through the forest. Deeper. Undulating. Disturbing.

"Soldiers, form up! Safeties off!" Sergeant Muller barked.

The soldiers did so as ordered as the first Beowolves came into view. They dashed through the trees, zig-zagging their way to the firing formation.

"Fire on my mark!"

There weren't too many, only fifteen or so, but the trees provided cover as they dashed through them. The formation's only chance was to fire when the Beowolves cleared the trees and ran out into the open clearing.

"Mark!"

The roar of the rifles answered the growls and howls of the Beowolves in the forest canopy. Julius did not blink once as he watched the Beowolves. Even as they fell under the sustained fire, their eyes remained ever locked onto the soldiers, wishing for nothing more than death and destruction. In less than a minute, silence reigned as the group of Beowolves dissolved into the snow, and the soldiers began to relax.

"Keep your weapons up! Eyes everywhere!" Muller warned.

Some soldiers who still had ammo formed a circle, guns bristling outwards like a porcupine. Those who had expended their rounds drew their weapons and brandished their shields.

No sooner had they readied themselves did another smaller group of Beowolves, led by an Alpha, charged from the formation's apparent flank. They did not expect the soldiers to be ready, and charged in a straight line. Most fell to the remaining rifles, and the Alpha was swiftly cut down.

"Again!" Muller commanded.

More rasps of steel upon steel as swords were drawn. They waited in silence again, straining their senses for any other signs of Grimm.

"Any injuries?" Muller asked after a few minutes of quiet. By now the Beowolves had already fully dissolved, leaving nothing left besides black stains and bone fragments from their carapaces.

"Clear!" DeMarco responded.

"Clear!" Julius followed.

The rest of the squad answered in kind, and Muller nodded.

"Ready up, everyone! We'll finish this patrol and then we can get some food back at the chow halls! Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

"That's ridiculous." Connor refuted as he swallowed a bite of bread. The three found themselves in the chow hall, the morning after Julius' jarring night patrol.

"I couldn't make this up even if I wanted to, Connor." Julius defended, nibbling half-heartedly on his fruit.

"I mean, he does have a point, though. I've never heard of anything happening like that before. Grimm flanking people? I thought they just ran towards you?" Donovan attempted to reason.

"That's what I thought too, but this was definitely different." Julius responded.

Connor considered the information as Julius and Donovan continued to discuss the events of the night patrol. Connor had been informed of the fluctuations in Grimm, but it was concerning that they were capable of strategizing.

"What about you, Connor?" Donovan asked.

"Hm?"

"You worried about this?"

"I've never heard of this happening before, but if what you say is true, then we'll have to be much more cautious on our patrols." Connor answered as a new thought crossed his mind.

"By the way Julius, who's your platoon commander?"

"Sergeant Muller. Why?"

"If you can, you should probably ask if this has ever happened before."

"Actually," Julius began. "Sergeant Muller told me about possible abnormalities."

"Abnormalities?"

"When the Grimm act strangely." Julius explained, "and how we need to be ready for them."

"Did he say anything else?" Connor pressed.

"Not that I know of, no."

"I see," Connor concluded, considering his options. He rose from the table with plate in hand.

"You done?" Donovan asked, still finishing his own breakfast.

"Yeah, I've got some stuff to do."

"Alright. See you around."

 _Sergeant Muller, huh?_ Connor thought. He returned his plate, then exited the chow hall and headed towards the officer's quarters. Specifically, Muller's.

 _Definitely have some stuff to do._

* * *

 **A/N: More focus on the dialogue in this transitional chapter. Not much to say at the moment, enjoying the first week of summer break.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19:** Revelation and Premonition

* * *

Connor felt conflicted as his boots splashed in the puddles, the squad charging in a tight formation towards the Creeps. It had been nothing short of a miracle that they had spotted the group of wandering Grimm at all, given the amount of rain falling around them in the forest.

Military protocol in Mantle dictated that the soldiers set up a defensive formation when facing the Grimm, and to respond with a single, coordinated counterattack. This, on the other hand, would have been considered rash and idiotic by many Mantlean officers, and Connor was inclined to agree.

The commander of Platoon Nineteen was Sergeant Haywood, a Valean officer with a reputation for being impulsive, which showed quite clearly in his commands.

"Kill them! Kill them all!" Haywood roared, leading the charge. If they pre-emptively struck the Grimm, there would be no need to worry about said Grimm tomorrow. That was the reasoning for many of his offensive maneuvers, Quite simple, perhaps, but unnecessarily dangerous. Never mind the fact that he hadn't even commanded them to draw their rifles.

 _Unprofessional._ Connor thought to himself at the front of the squad. _Unhinged, perhaps?_

He sighed and stamped out those thoughts; he could entertain them later. For now, professionalism was required as the Creeps responded to the charge in kind. It was short work, however, as there weren't many of them, relatively speaking. Connor grunted as a Creep made contact with his shield. The impact was jarring, but he ignored the discomfort and lashed out with his sword, paying no attention to its pained yelp.

 _In, and out._ Connor repeated to himself as he breathed. _Power through control_. He never truly enjoyed battle, but often found himself entering a trance-like state, allowing his training and experience to guide him. As long as there was nothing to distract him, he would be able to perform at optimal efficiency.

Which was why he grit his teeth as one of the soldiers whooped in joy, having cleaved through a Creep, bisecting it. Soon, the Valean soldiers were cheering as more of the Grimm began to fall, dissolving despite the rain. Connor felt a spike of irritation, but managed to quickly quell that as well, thanks to his training. That being said, the difference between the two kingdom's soldiers were quite different. Mantle, the professional and the experienced. And Vale, the… rowdy and uncouth.

 _We'll take what victories we can get, I guess_.

Connor's head whipped around when he heard a commotion behind him. Some of the soldiers had gathered around, blocking whatever was of interest from his view. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Connor went to go see what the fuss was all about.

* * *

Donovan groaned as light from the morning sun hits his eyes. He knew he was supposed to get up soon, but he curled the blankets around himself and tried to squeeze out a few more minutes of rest. The faint scent of rubbing alcohol wafted through th—

Donovan's eyes snapped open as he shot up from his bed.

 _Rubbing alcohol? What on Remnant?_

As he took in his surroundings, he found himself thoroughly confused. He was in one of the base's medical wards, sitting up on one of the many beds. It was sparsely furnished, with only some flimsy curtains separating the cots. Not that it mattered, since it seemed that there were only a few others, all of whom were sleeping. A dull aching made him reach up towards the back of his head, only to find it wrapped tightly with medical wrap.

"What in the—?"

The door opened, and a soldier stepped in. His uniform marked him as Corporal Strauss.

"You're finally up, Private Winchester."

"Yeah, but I still feel like crap," Donovan replied, quickly taking in the soldier's rank and name on his uniform. Valean. "Sir." He added quickly.

"Could you specify what exactly 'crap' feels like?" Strauss chuckled, taking a seat by a table near Donovan's bed.

"Uh, aching in the back of my head."

"I see. Anything else that troubles you?" Strauss continued, taking and reading a clipboard on the small table at the foot of Donovan's bed.

"Aside from the aching? Nothing else," he answered. "Also, are you allowed to look at that?"

"I'm one of the military physicians on this base, so I'd like to say I have the medical knowledge to assess and take care of the wounded."

"Oh, okay."

"Anyways. No nausea? Dizziness? Memory loss?" Strauss questioned, flipping the the next page.

"Nothing like that." _Wait, memory loss?_ "How did I end up here? And how long was I out?"

The door opened once again, and a concerned Julius rushed in, followed by Connor. Julius immediately began sieging Donovan with a barrage of questions.

"Hey yourself, Julius." Donovan laughed at Julius' face, and nodding in return to Connor. The irony was not lost on Donovan, seeing how it was supposed to be him looking over Julius. Not the other way around.

"So, what happened?" Donovan asked after he had managed to calm Julius down.

"From what Corporal Damascus tells me here, you slipped and fractured the back of your skull during a patrol. Landed on a jagged rock. You've been out for a solid week now."

Marching cadences could be heard outdoors as Donovan attempted to process the information in silence. Julius fidgeted, Connor crossed his arms, and Strauss waited patiently with his hands behind his back.

 _When I die please bury me deep!_

 _Place a gun down by my feet!_

 _Don't cry for me, don't shed no tear!_

 _Just pack my box with PT gear!_

"What?" Donovan asked incredulously.

"It's true, Donovan," Connor interjected. "It was after we had dealt with the Creeps."

"So I slipped and fell?"

"That's the gist of it," Julius chuckled nervously.

Donovan sighed, then slowly let himself sink back into the bed. Of all the things that he could have been injured by, this was probably the most anti-climactic. Donovan Winchester, soldier of Vale, defeated by a slick patch of dirt.

 _Of all things_.

"When can I return to duty, sir?" he asked, eyes pointed at the ceiling.

"Well, the good news is that you're recovering quite fast, relatively speaking. At your current rate of recovery, I'd say another two to three weeks. However, that does not include any testing that I have to perform to ensure that there is no permanent damage."

Donovan groaned. To be confined to bed for that long… the mere thought of how bored he would be scared him.

As Julius and Donovan chatted away, Connor gave Strauss a questioning look. To recover from a fractured skull, no matter how minor, in that short of a time? Strauss seemed to understand the glare, but closed his eyes and shook his head.

 _Either he doesn't know or doesn't want to talk about it. Both of which warrant concern._ _So much for just talking to Sergeant Muller. I'll have to talk to him or Sergeant Haywood at some point as well._

* * *

A knock on the door notified him of a visitor. He was about done with his daily tasks, and night was setting, so he hoped that this would be short.

"Enter." he said, not looking up as he signed some forms.

"Sergeant Haywood, sir?"

"What is it, Corporal Strauss?"

"It's about Private Winchester, sir."

"And what of him?"

"His medical reports, specifically regarding the recent incident."

"The fracture? I see." Haywood hummed at the topic. "What of it? I don't expect to see him ready for a month or two."

"That's the issue, sir." Strauss explained. "I've looked at his medical reports, and assuming a normal rate of recovery, he's set to be discharged in three weeks. Maximum."

Haywood's pen stilled, and his eyes raised to meet Strauss'. Three weeks for a fractured skull?

"That's impossible."

Strauss didn't say anything and simply slipped the medical forms onto Haywood's desk. He scanned it, and sighed deeply. So much for the meeting being short.

"This shouldn't be possible." Haywood growled.

"That's what I thought too, sir, but the inflammation around the wound has already settled, far earlier than expected, and there are already extensive signs of bone recovery. Like I said, the three weeks I gave you? That's under the assumption that he recovers normally."

"He was a conscript?" Haywood asked.

"Yes, sir. From the Halitus outpost, if I recall correctly." Strauss answered.

"That's Mantle's. What the hell did they do to those kids?"

"There was another Halitus conscript that came in a month ago with a fractured arm. Private Fenwick, Platoon Twenty, I believe. What makes it confusing is that he exhibited standard rates of recovery."

"Then what makes Winchester different?"

Strauss had no answer, nor did he need to provide one. Haywood rubbed his temples with one hand, and sighed once again.

"First the Grimm encounters increasing, and now conscripts with freak regeneration."

"What should I do then, sir?"

"Watch over Private Winchester, see if there are any lingering problems. Fast recovery or not, he still suffered a head injury." Haywood instructed. "Also, do not tell anyone else about this just yet. We don't need to fuel the fire any more than it already has. Things are bad enough between the Mantlean and Valean soldiers as is, and I suspect this might just drive them further apart."

"Between the soldiers? Sir, what-"

"That's not something for you to worry about, Corporal Strauss. Get some rest, and keep this on the down-low. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Strauss gulped, taking back the medical forms.

"Good. Anything else you needed to inform me of?"

"No, sir."

"Alright then. Dismissed."

Strauss saluted, then left Haywood's office, taking a right in the halls and into the night. However, what he didn't notice as he exited was the figure hiding around the corner on the left side of the hall, where there were other officer's offices.

Connor rounded the corner, considering what he had just overheard. His original plan had been to find Sergeant Muller, but this was quite the revelation.

 _And the dissent among the soldiers. That's definitely news to me._

* * *

 _The screaming._

" _Hold the line!"_

 _The clashing of worlds. Of hopes. Of dreams. Of fears._

" _To the east! Double time!"_

 _The black sun._

" _Come on!"_

 _And orb of white._

 _A flare of yellow._

 _A streak of turquoise._

 _The weight of despair._

" _We can't hold!"_

 _A surge of hope._

" _Forward!"_

 _An explosion of red._

 _A blinding sight._

 _A clear ringing._

 _A roar of defiance._

 _The world turning to white._

 _Fighting against the dying light._

Donovan shot up with a pained yell. It was the middle of the night, and the darkness only worsened his panic. The wound on his head stung and burned, both swelling and constricting at the same time. He groaned as he clutched his head with one of his hands, and used the other one to support himself.

 _My hand._

His hand, why did it look like that? He didn't know if it was the red haze of pain or something else, but it shimmered red, flaring as if agitated.

 _What?_

He collapsed back into the bed as a fresh wave of pain wracked his head, a sheen of sweat drenching him. Clenching his teeth hard, he tried to ride it as best as he could, but it was too much. With a gasp, Donovan fell into the sweet grasp of unconsciousness.

As his breathing calmed, so too did the flaring on his hands, and the night returned to darkness.

* * *

 **A/N: I'll let you put the pieces together as to what's happening to Donovan, but it should be somewhat apparent. As for how he got to that point, the answer was given in one of the previous chapters. It's convoluted, I know, but it'll be explained later.**

 **And if you don't know what's happening, or how it happened, it'll be explained eventually. Sit tight.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 20** : To Command and Listen

* * *

"Again," Athenion called out.

The armored guard returned to his combat stance, ready for the next attempt at bringing him to the ground. Hektor, on the other hand, rose from his kneeling position and cleared his mouth of spittle. The blow across the jaw from the previous bout was jarring, but it did not floor him. At least, not yet. With a huff, he too readied himself for combat.

"Fight."

Hektor surged forward, looking to surprise his opponent. He had tried it a few times earlier, each being met with disastrous, and painful, results. However, that was where he hoped the surprise would come in.

His opponent thrust his staff forward, looking to jab Hektor's torso. Hektor spun to the left, using the momentum to power his strike toward the side of the guard's head. Almost lazily, the guard flicked his staff to the side, meeting the incoming attack and countering with his own. Hektor was forced back, while the guard stood firm.

With a flash of irritation, Hektor engaged again with a series of strikes meant to throw the opponent off balance. At least, that was what was supposed to happen if the guard wasn't constantly redirecting his blows. He seemed to trivialize them, seemingly using the barest amount of effort to seamlessly defend himself. Yet Hektor knew it wasn't a lack of effort on the guard's part. Rather, he himself still wasn't proficient enough in combat.

Hektor's thoughts were broken alongside his stance as his staff was deflected. The guard stepped forward, attempting to keep Hektor on his toes. Almost immediately, a crushing overhead strike came down, forcing Hektor to hold his staff up in defense. Instinctively, he jumped back as the guard reversed the strike and swung upwards, nearly clipping Hektor in the chin.

 _Now!_

With the guard having over-committed on the swing, Hektor took the opportunity to rush forward again.

 _I can end this._

He brought his staff to the heel of the guard and swept it to the side in an attempt to trip him and claim his first victory. However, all that greeted him was a _clang_ as the wooden staff stopped on contact. Looking up to the guard, who had now recovered and was looking down towards him, Hektor remembered an important detail.

 _He's heavier than me. And he's wearing metal armor._

Hektor could not even sigh as the guard stepped into his stance and mimicked Hektor, clearing his feet from the floor. A grunt replaced said sigh as the guard brought the staff down onto his chest, pinning him.

"Cease!"

Both Hektor and the guard flinched in surprise. It had not been Athenion who made that order. Rather, it had been made by the figure next to him.

"Your Majesty!" the guard sounded out, immediately dropping to one knee and bowing his head towards the figure. Hektor immediately scrambled to do the same, heedless of the throbbing where the staff had connected. Stood before them, next to Athenion, was none other than Emperor Pericles the Second.

"You may both rise," the emperor stated. They complied, although the guard kept his head bowed. The emperor then directed his attention to Hektor.

"That was a clever maneuver, Hektor, but the execution was sloppy." he remarked curtly. "That you would forget the advantages your opponent possesses is a mark of inexperience. Were it a fight to the death, you would not have risen again."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Hektor replied, keeping his face impassive. Although it was his grandfather he was speaking to, Emperor Pericles the Second did not successfully rule the kingdom of Mistral through mere kindness. He was owed respect, and even Hektor recognized that much. "I will learn from my mistakes."

"See to it that you do," the emperor nodded, "and there may be a possibility that you will surpass your father someday."

Surpass his father? Hektor struggled to keep his surprise from showing, and instead chose to bow his head.

"I will keep that in mind."

"And you," the emperor stated, looking at the guard, "you have done well enough today. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" And with that, the guard turned and left the arena.

"What have you gotten yourself involved in this time, Athenion?" he asked.

"A call for aid in Nishimon. An unknown Grimm this time. I'll need to see it for myself." Athenion answered, watching as Hektor made his way from the center of the arena over to them.

"Will you have time? I doubt the Grimm will wait." the emperor remarked.

"If I take one of the airships, it should take two days to arrive, hopefully before the Grimm does."

"I see."

"Where will you be going?" Hektor asked, now joining the two.

"I have business to attend to in the western kingdom, so I'll be leaving later tonight. Until I return, you will be on your best behavior, understood? I don't want to come back and hear about you breaking one of the heirloom vases again." Athenion lectured.

"That was as accident. If-"

"Regardless, can you do this for me, Hektor? I will try to return as soon as possible." he rested a hand on Hektor's soldier. He would have also chosen to spend more time with his son, but he had responsibilities to fulfill.

"I will." Hektor mumbled.

"You did well today." Athenion smiled, attempting to lighten his mood. "Go wash yourself off, then get something to eat."

As Hektor left, Athenion sighed and turned back to the empty arena. Martial excellency was expected, no, required, of a Nikos. Any less would besmirch the legacy of Mantle's leaders, past or future. And yet...

"Sometimes I wonder if he is ready for combat at such a young age." Athenion pondered aloud. "We live in different times now, and I don't know if he is suited for this."

"He will learn in time." the emperor stated. "As a Nikos, he must."

"Will he? I do not doubt his potential, but I do not think his heart is in the right place."

"You were no better when you were his age," the emperor scoffed, "and unlike you, he has Shizuka's intellect."

As Athenion made to respond to his father's quip, the emperor turned and began walking away.

"Times are indeed changing, of that there is no dispute," he concluded as he walked, "but is it Hektor's heart that isn't in the right place? Or is it yours?"

* * *

"Where are those reinforcements!?" the Gunnery Sergeant yelled over the cannon fire. Nothing was going right. Then again, things concerning Grimm rarely were. It was something that the soldiers of Mistral adapted to.

There had been sighting earlier in the week of a Terra Gigas near Nishimon, one of Mistral's cities furthest to the west. The city stood upon a large hill, allowing it a superior defensive position as well as a vantage point. It shared this characteristic with three other sister cities, forming a protective ring for the land behind it, and the capital of Mistral at its center as well.

The mass of dirt and shrubbery possessed by the Geist wandered aimlessly, but it never came close enough to warrant engagement. It didn't even seem to register the human activity in the vicinity. The command had been given to avoid contact, as well as a request for reinforcements in case things went south.

And go south it did. There was a palpable air of tension in the week leading up to contact. Not that the soldiers were completely expecting the Gigas to approach them, given its earlier behavior, but with no prior indication of malicious intent, the Grimm's trajectory was now suddenly redirected towards Nishimon. Alarms rung throughout the city walls, signalling a potential conflict with the Gigas. The soldiers tasked with the defence of Nishimon took cold comfort from its gradual advancement, but the slow rumbling of the earth has proven to be of no aid. The Terra Gigas was giant, towering over the forestline as its uphill march toppled everything in its path. The undulating mass unraveled the earth underneath it, ripping up rocks and trees with ease.

The soldiers had learned quickly that cannon fire did little to slow it, especially when the Gigas seemed to absorb them into its dirt mass and launch them back with its oversized arms. However, the cannons now being fired outside the gates were not directed at the towering Gigas. Rather, they fired towards the mass of Grimm in the clearing that seemed to be attracted by the aggravated Gigas. Coils of King Taijitus, packs of Beringels and Beowolves, and flocks of Nevermores kept up with the sliding mass of earth as they too sensed potential bloodshed. There was much of that, of course, as the Grimm advanced over the corpses of their fallen, the dead ones with all torn apart by the projectiles.

"Keep the cannons firing! If it's a feast the Grimm want, we'll give them all the dust and firepower that they can chew on!"

"Move the cannons! The gates are opening!" a voice called from the top of the wall.

 _What? Why are the gates opening?_ Despite his doubts, the Gunnery Sergeant heeded the order nonetheless.

"You heard him, move the cannons!"

He wondered would could have prompted such an order as the stalwart gates of Nishimon groaned opened. His mouth promptly fell agape as a figure rushed past him and towards the Grimm. Following him was a platoon of men, clad in deep crimson armor and visored helms.

 _The Imperial Guard?_

The figure leading the charge wore resplendent golden-bronze armor, with a regal red-plumed corinthian helmet upon his head. In one hand he held a heavy warspear, balanced and lethal. In the other he held a shield, passed down along the unbroken lineage of Mistral's greatest leaders.

 _Entolí… and_ _Akoúo̱._

Words could not begin to explain the welling of hope that rose in his chest. What had seemed a desperate situation was no more as they were graced by the presence of a warrior. A champion. A savior.

"Rally to the Prince! To Nikos!" another voice sounded out. _To victory._

The men in the city cheered as they made to follow the charge. The Gunnery Sergeant cheered as well, before he was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder behind him.

"What is it?" he barked, annoyed at the interruption.

"P-p-prototype cannonballs, sir, courtesy of the Imperial armory. I-I was told to tell you that they are not to be fired until Lord Nikos' command." the other soldier stammered, pointing at a stack of boxes being piled near the cannons. He walked over to one and looked at the contents inside, and a grin split his face from ear to ear.

* * *

The Taijtu screeched as Athenion dashed along its length, his spear tearing through scales and flesh as he dragged it. The Imperial Guard held off one of the heads as Athenion ran towards the other. With a fierce cry, Athenion pulled out the spear and leapt, aiming it towards the Taijitu's gaping maw. The Grimm shuddered as Akoúo̱ shattered its teeth and Entolí pierced its skull from the roof of its mouth. Athenion landed gracefully as the head collapsed, followed soon by its counterpart. With a huff, Athenion looked around the battlefield. The soldiers were holding well, fighting and adapting to the various Grimm that came at them. He had no need for rifles, nor would he have willingly chosen to use one. This was where he belonged as a leader, here in the front lines.

Yells could be heard in the distance as men flew backwards. A group of Beringels flung rocks towards the soldiers as they advanced, denting shields and breaking bones.

One of the Beringels yelped as a spear ran through one side and was pulled out of the other. The others turned in surprise as Athenion rushed them. With bellows and chest-thumping, the Grimm chose to answer the new threat.

The first one threw out a meaty fist, only for it to run down the side of Akoúo̱. With its body exposed, Athenion swiftly ran Entolí under its chin and through its neck. The second one received a mighty shield bash to the head, where it was finished with a thrust through its center. The third smashed its fists into the ground, creating a shockwave that forced the soldier back. But not Athenion, who stood his ground. From behind Akoúo̱, Athenion threw Entolí straight and true, piercing the Beringel in the eye.

A glowing in the sky commanded his attention. It was a flare round, signalling to him that the cannons were loaded with the new ammunition and ready to fire.

"Fall back! To me!" Athenion ordered, reclaiming and raising his spear to the sky as he began a cautious retreat. The soldiers and his guards did so, curious as to why the order was made. But curiosity was all. There was no confusion or doubt, only trust in the crown prince of Mistral.

The Grimm surged forward, heedless of what was about to happen. Once Athenion felt that they were a safe distance away, he swung his spear downwards. The roar of cannons filled the air as cannonfire fell like rain, and Athenion smirked when multiple explosions filled the clearing in front of them. Pained roars and screeches could be heard as the liquid fire spread downhill, igniting whatever Grimm that didn't die instantly in the initial explosions. He looked upwards towards the sky, and was greeted with the sight of Nevermores falling to the ground, feathers smoldering.

Things could have gone much worse with the experimental cannon ammunition. They had been invented and experimented within Mistral, as part of their attempt to rely less upon Mantle for military technology. Only now were they deemed ready for live testing. The napalm rounds were a mix of fire dust and thick oils, which could create a lethal carpet of liquid fire. The flak rounds for the Nevermores, on the other hand, were a volatile mixture of fire and earth dust, which would explode into a multitude of molten shards. Perfect for taking down airborne Grimm.

All things considered, Athenion thought it to be a resounding success.

He remained impassive as he watched the Grimm writhe and convulse under the molten slag. Black fur burned away to white bone, which burned and charred black again. The hunger of the flames was matched only by the fury of the Grimm's crimson eyes The realization was slow, but within moments the soldiers cheered again, this time even louder.

Having their advance halted so absolutely, and the sudden influx of positive emotions, the Grimm faltered. Those that had survived seemed to understand that this was not a fight that they could win, and they began to flee.

 _And in time, that will only make them more dangerous_.

As the cheering died down, Athenion noticed something was off, along with the the rest of the soldiers. So focused were they on the mass of Grimm, they had almost forgotten the Terra Gigas. Even stranger was the fact that it had stopped moving, just before the clearing.

Whispers and mutterings arose as the soldiers pointed at the remaining Grimm, which was oddly still. However, it took no time for Athenion to come to a realization.

 _It's watching me._

At a glance, it might have seemed that the Terra Gigas was looking at the soldiers as a whole, but as Athenion continued to look at it, he became sure that its attention was fixed solely upon him. There was the malice present in its singular eye, as it was in all Grimm, yet he thought he could feel another presence behind that. Ancient, yet calculating, its gaze unsettled him.

Weapons raised as the earth rumbled again, but the Grimm did not advance. Rather, the Geist within departed from its physical vessel and floated away, leaving only a crumbling mass of dirt and rock behind, as well as a very confused number of soldiers.

"Lord Nikos," a soldier called from behind, "should we pursue the Grimm?"

"No." Athenion answered. "We have repelled the attack, and that is enough. Gather your men and tend to the wounded."

"Yes, my lord!" the soldier bowed, then began repeating Athenion's orders.

* * *

"To Lord Nikos, defender of Nishimon!" the provincial lord declared, raising his cup to the air. The people cheered, raising their own cups and enjoying the night. Moods were high as the people of Nishimon celebrated the successful defence. Not only had a large group of Grimm been driven off, but the crown prince of all people had come to their aid as well, leading the charge. That was more than enough reason to celebrate.

Athenion chose to accept the provincial lord's offer to stay the night, if only to perpetuate the good mood. There were some casualties, and it was in his best interest to honor and celebrate their sacrifice. He made himself a mental note to visit the families that were affected by the event the following morning, but for the time being he let himself enjoy the food and company.

 _This is what they fought for. This is what we all fight for._

Nevertheless, the fatigue from battle from the day began creeping in, and Athenion politely excused himself to the complimentary lodging that he had been offered. Stood outside the door were two of his his imperial guard, still clad in their crimson armor.

"Argus, Himura, you should both take a break and switch off. There is food and drink aplenty, and the salted pork is particularly delectable." Athenion told them. The guards did not reply, but they simply left their posts to follow the order. Immediately, two more guards took their place.

Athenion sighed as he took a seat on the side of the bed. It had been an… interesting day, to say the least, but he wouldn't have preferred it any other way. To fight for a brighter future, one where people could live in peace, that was where he belonged.

"Victory is secured, not from the throne, but from the front lines." he repeated quietly to himself.

His thoughts wandered back to Hektor. Would his son have to take arms against the Grimm one day? Athenion hoped not. And yet, Hektor was soon to be that age.

 _For it is in initiative that we achieve immortality._

Not adolescence, of course. That was a different issue entirely. As for this, every Nikos, at a certain point in their lives, would have to go through this process. For better or for worse, it was required of them.

 _Through this, we bear the mantle of leadership and responsibility to rise above all._

Athenion thought back to the Taijitu. He let himself feel the thrill of battle, and he unleashed himself upon the Grimm. As long as he wasn't rash, he would be protected by this power given to him. But what did the soldiers think? What did the imperial guard think? It wasn't every day that they saw a lone individual challenge a Taijitu and win, or willingly blindside four Beringels. He tried not to pay attention to the looks, but notice them he did. Wherever he walked, the people gazed up towards him. A hero. A god among men.

 _Infinite in potential and unbound by death, I release your soul,_

He remembered those words, so long ago when his father the emperor spoke them. Those blessed words, those cursed words. He remembered the way the Gigas focused on him, how oddly fixated it was upon him. Was it because of this power? Would he have to place this burden upon his son as well?

 _...and by my shoulder, invoke thee._

As Athenion lay in bed, these thoughts swirled in his mind. Rest was slow to come, and only ever so slowly did his thoughts drift into darkness.

* * *

 **A/N: A chapter that delves deeper into the mind of Athenion, as well as a bit more insight into Emperor Pericles. Worry not, these aren't just side characters. They have their own purposes to serve.**

 **The chapter revisions are coming along, and it seems that I might have been too worried about plot inconsistencies. So far I have worked on three areas (haven't updated yet), and it's already difficult to find more flaws. I'm sure I'll find them in time as the story progresses, but for now, progress is coming along nicely. Thanks for sticking around if you've made it this far, because it'll keep going.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 21** : An Old Man

* * *

"Water?"

"I have it."

"Knife?"

"On my belt."

"Robes?"

"Yes," Edwin answered.

"Zahrati," Osman chuckled, "I think you've checked enough times."

"Just making sure," she responded. They were finally ready to depart, having checked their equipment for three weeks travel, both on foot and camel-back. Despite Al Ma'In being the easternmost city of the kingdom, there was still much uncharted and wild lands between the deserts of Vacuo and the forests of Vale. All three were garbed in white desert robes, with Edwin looking the oddest out of the three.

"And what about you?" Zahrati interrogated. "Have you forgotten anything?"

"I may be old," Osman fired back, "but I have more years of desert experience than you have been alive."

"Really? How about I come over and check?"

"If it will ease your mind, then by all means, help yourself."

Everything was accounted for, as the old man promised, but as Zahrati checked, her thoughts couldn't help but wander back to a single concern.

"Are you sure about this, _Alssalf?_ " she voiced her concern."As much as you like to joke about it,I'm am worried that you won't be able to handle the stress of traveling."

"I will be fine." Osman patted her on the shoulder. "It has been far too long since I have been on an expedition, especially when it comes to bringing Edwin home. I'm sure his family will miss him dearly."

Zahrati nodded, and Osman clapped his hands together. He had reserved two camels for the three of them. Osman would ride on one, which Zahrati and Edwin rode on the other. Zahrati didn't have much experience riding one, as she and Nusar's mercenaries never really used them. It would have been far too expensive to let every one of them ride a camel, and the walking kept them in shape. Regardless, she chose not to question how much Osman had spent on these two.

"Come! Let us be off."

* * *

"You never talked about that necklace."

"You never asked."

"We didn't want to scare you at the time. After all, I did just bring you across Vacuo from those slavers."

Edwin shrugged.

"My mom gave it to me a long time ago."

They had settled and made camp for the night. Dinner had consisted of some dried jerky and a few bites of grain-rich bread, washed down with water. Not the most sumptuous of feasts, but it kept the stomach quiet.

As the stars twinkled in the night sky and the wind flowed northwards, Zahrati finally decided to broach the topic of how Edwin ended up in Vacuo. She had never really asked about it, given that her immediate concerns at the time had been making sure that he was physically and mentally sound. She had been worried that mentioning it would conjure unpleasant memories. And for that matter, it wasn't much of Osman's concern either, seeing as she was the one who chose to be Edwin's caretaker.

Now that they were on an expedition to leave for Vale, however, she thought that it might be safe to ask now. Osman, on the other hand, had pulled out his pipe and began to smoke, eyes closed in relaxation. Although it didn't look like it, Zahrati knew that Osman was keenly listening to the conversation.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Not much. I was just at the town gates looking at the traders. After that, something hit me in the back of my head, and I woke up in the desert."

 _To think they would kidnap people as far away from Vale_. Zahrati and Osman shared a look.

"They must be worried."

"Yeah."

"One thing I am interested in," Osman interjected, blowing out a small stream of smoke. No doubt he was probably trying to change the topic of the conversation, "you don't seem at all affected knowing that Zahrati is a faunus."

"Not really. My parents are faunus." Edwin answered. That made them pause. Normal ears? Check. Normal skin? Check. Absence of protrusions on the body? Check.

"Really now? I don't see any, er, distinct characteristics of one." Osman pointed out.

"I'm adopted."

More silence.

"Ah."

"What do they do for a living?"

"They make wooden crafts and try to sell them to other faunus, but business has been slow."

Zahrati coughed nervously and Osman sheepishly went back to smoking his pipe. His attempt to change the topic away from Edwin's parents seemed to only bring it further into focus. That being said, there was no indication that Edwin minded, as he had gone back to looking at the necklace.

 _So much for a conversation_.

"Well then" Osman stated, "it is getting late, and we must be up early if we are to reach Al Ma'In tomorrow."

As Edwin and Zahrati fell asleep, Osman threw some sand onto the fire and extinguished it, letting the night embrace them.

* * *

The city was as she remembered it. They had managed to make good time, and had arrived earlier than scheduled, just before the sun crested in the sky.

"Go and find a place for us to get some rest, Zahrati." Osman ordered, slowly getting off his camel and stretching, with Edwin doing likewise. The camels would be taken into the stables by the western gate, where they would rest after this leg of the journey. Afterwards, the three would go to the stables by the eastern gate, where they would be able to acquire two fresh camels.

The city was active as usual, and traffic and business was abound. From haggling merchants to bleating sheep, it was somewhat akin to Nazef in commercial activity.

Bumping into a few men as she turned a street corner, Zahrati quickly apologized under their glares as she made her way further down the street. They looked rough around the edges, but it wasn't an uncommon sight in this city. She thought no more of them when she reached a smaller tavern in a quieter corner away from the main streets. There were a few people inside, and Zahrati decided that it would be good for them to have some peace and quiet, away from the busier areas.

"Anything catch your eye?" Osman asked when she returned.

"I found a smaller place. Let's go."

As they made their way to the tavern, she saw the same group of men. It seemed they were in a hurry to get somewhere, whereas before they were walking at a casual pace.

"Something the matter?" Osman asked her.

"Nothing." Zahrati responded. "Just observing the people."

When they entered the tavern, no one paid them any attention, so they took their seats at a table.

"A nice and quiet place you've found." Osman noted dryly. The walls were adorned lightly with some ornamental carpets. Aside from that, there were only tables and chairs, with only a few occupied.

"How can I help you today?" A server came up and asked them.

"I will have some _arak_ , please, and water for the boy." Osman gave his order.

"I'll have _karkadeh_." Zahrati said.

The server nodded, and went to go get their drinks.

"So assuming the maps are accurate," Osman began, "we should expect to reach to Vale proper within a week and a half, and Castinis another four to five days after that."

"But won't there be Grimm along the way?" Zahrati asked.

"Not to worry. I have plenty of experience navigating around Grimm. They're not exactly the most subtle of beings, after all. And if worst comes to worst, we'll just have to rely on you to defend us." Osman assuaged.

Their conversation quieted when they heard voices in the back of the tavern, where their server was getting their drinks. The voices were muffled, but from what Zahrati could tell, it was beginning to turn into a heated argument. However, the voices died down soon afterwards, and Osman and Zarati continued their conversation.

"So that's around four weeks. Two there, and two back." Zahrati added.

"That's about right."

"Do we have enough supplies? If I recall, we only have enough for another four days"

"We'll go and pick some things up later." Osman waved a hand in dismissal. "Nusar has some places that he recommended where we can get supplies for cheap."

"How cheap are we talking about?"

"Here you are." The server came back with their drinks. For Osman, the _arak_ was milky white, and a bit on the strong side in terms of alcohol content, and Zahrati's _karkadeh_ was dark red

They all took a drink. The _karkadeh_ was sweet and tart, the fresh hibiscus almost tasting cranberry-like.

"To think that you would be drinking alcohol at your age, _Alssalf."_ Zahrati smirked.

"And to think that you enjoy a children's drink," Osman retorted.

Edwin simply sipped his water as the two continued to discuss other things, notably what supplies were needed. He didn't really care much about what they were discussing, nor did he feel the need to contribute to the discussion.

After a while, his head hit the table with a thud.

"Edwin?" Zahrati turned her head. Edwin did not respond.

She blinked, then noted how the tavern became blurry around her, and she heard Osman falling forward as well. As the world continued to spin around her, she found herself blacking out.

* * *

Zahrati awoke with a gasp as cold water doused her face. Her vision was still blurry, and she could only make out vague figures. With her vision clearing, Zahrati could now clearly see the men standing in front of her. They were the men that she had bumped into earlier. Over to the side, she saw that Osman and Edwin were bound by the arms and ankles on the floor, and that they had come to.

They were in a dark, windowless building, lit with some candles. By the looks of it, it was similar to the storeroom that Nusar and the mercenaries used in Nazef, if somewhat darker.

 _Were we drugged by mercenaries?_

She herself was bound in a different position. Her hands were tied above her head to a scaffolding, which held various boxes and crates.

"She's awake." A voice said gruffly.

"Is she now?" Another answered. Confident. Arrogant. Terrifying. "Good."

 _That voice. It can't be…_

"Did you miss me?"

Zahrati froze as pure fear ran through her body. Behind the men, walking towards her, was a face she thought she would never see again. A sharp jawline and chiseled face. Some would have considered him roguish and handsome once, but to Zahrati, it was a nightmarish visage. She looked down his left arm, and was greeted with an empty sleeve.

"Sutekh."

"Yes, my dear, it's me." he said, raising the arm in question. Zahrati could only stare as the sleeve fell down to his elbow, revealing a stump halfway up the forearm. From there, there was a simple prosthetic, two parallel hooks that clicked together.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he mused. "To think that the knife you stabbed me with was a filthy meat knife. The doctors did what they could, but the infection had already set in. In the end, they decided amputation was the best course of action."

He rotated the prosthetic a bit more then let the drop, and the sleeve covered it once more. He took another step towards Zahrati until their faces were inches away. His gaze bore into hers. Once cruel and arrogant, his eyes were now cold and lifeless, yet terrifyingly penetrating.

"And to think that you would come back to me. Do know how overjoyed I was when I heard that you had come to Al Ma'In? Not once, but twice?"

"How did you know?" Zahrati asked, dropping her gaze. Old instincts screamed at her to cower before this man, and she hesitantly complied.

"The first time I heard about it was from two of my men, who had an altercation with you." Sutekh explained. He took a step back and looked away from her. "Could you imagine my surprise when they described you? It could have been any random woman, but they told me about your eyes. Slits for irises, they told me." he nodded, "I thought it to be impossible."

Sutekh regarded the unconscious Edwin on the floor, then turned back to Zahrati.

"I asked them where you were, and they told me you had beaten them and run off with a slave-to-be. Imagine my disbelief and anger, then, when you had left. But it's alright, Zahrati, they won't be a problem for you anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"They can't cause problems if they're not alive to do so. Failure isn't tolerated, so I slit their throats."

He walked to her side, where he pulled rotated her right forearm slightly. He ran a finger lightly over her _wasumm_ , examining it with keen interest.

"I remember that day like it was yesterday, when you were branded. I knew you were going to blossom into a beauty. I wanted you, and I still do, and this mark is testament to that. I suppose that's all I can thank my father for."

"But ever since you took my arm, he treated me differently. Any expectations he had of me disappeared, and it was as if I no longer existed to him. Of course, he kept his slaves. To him, they were more valuable than I was. " He told Zahrati, pacing around her. "So I killed him, and I killed his slaves after."

A disturbing smile was plastered on his face as he said this, but it quickly deformed into a scowl as Osman began coughing.

"To think that you would abandon me for this old man. Who is he to you? No matter, I will find out myself."

Sutekh turned to Osman, squatting to get a better look at Osman.

"Tell me, old man, what are you to Zahrati?"

"Please leave us be, there is nothing we can offer you." Osman implored from his less that desirable position.

"Pick him up and sit him down," Sutekh stood up and ordered to his men. Two of them lifted Osman from the ground and placed him on a crate. "Do you want to say that again, you senile fool?" he asked afterwards.

"We have done nothing, please let us go."

"Ah, but you see, there is something you have to offer me," Sutekh laughed, "or should I say... someone."

With a sneer, he sent a fist crashing across the side of Osman's face, the blow collapsing him back to the floor. Zahrati screamed out in horror, and she began thrashing in her bindings.

"I've waited years for this. She will be mine." he concluded, turning back to Zahrati. Osman did not move.

"What should we do with him?" one of the bandits asked, pointing at Osman.

"Worthless. Dispose of him."

"No!" Zahrati yelled futilely, struggling even more against her bindings.

"Hold her still, would you?" Sutekh ordered lazily to one of the bandits "It would be such a bother if she were to-"

Osman chuckled, and lifted his head to look at Sutekh. There was no indication that he had been hit at all. In fact, there was a faint glowing in the area where his fist had struck, so faint that only Zahrati could see it. The glow then appeared in his eyes, a sharp, electrifying cobalt blue.

A mighty gust of wind blew open the door and into into the building, strong enough to extinguish the candles and send billowing clouds of dust. The darkness disoriented except for Zahrati.

In the darkness, she could see Osman quickly jogging towards her. How he had broken out of his bindings, she did not know, but it mattered not as he cut her free from her bindings.

"Get some light in here!" Sutekh roared, flailing about blindly in the dark. Zahrati would not give them the opportunity as she began disabling his men. She made sure to strike incapacitating blows, her faunus vision allowing her to see perfectly clear. Bandits or not, however, she had no doubt that she would have to answer to the authorities of Al Ma'In if she killed within the city gates. For now, she had to take out Sutekh and his men, then escape with Edwin and Osman.

To call it a brawl was an overstatement. Dodging a wild fist, she planted a solid kick between the man's legs, who went down with a squeal. There weren't many left conscious, so Zahrati made a beeline for Sutekh, who had his knife out. His vision still hadn't adjusted, and Zahrati took advantage of this by taking his outstretched arm and throwing him bodily into the scaffolding that had previously held her. The scaffolding broke, and before he could recover, the crates and boxes that were once supported fell on him, knocking him out.

"We need to leave!" she heard Osman yell.

Zahrati took this as her opportunity to pick up Edwin, as well as their stolen equipment. She located Osman as well and led them quickly out of the building. Once out the door, the heard shouts in the distance, drawing both Zahrati and Osman's attention.

"The city guards, no doubt. You must hurry."

Zahrati slung the unconscious Edwin over her shoulder in response. It was not until she had taken a few steps before realizing that Osman was not following her.

" _Alssalf_?" Zahrati asked, her steps coming to a stop.

"Go, before the guards arrive."

"But-"

"We do not have time, Zahrati!" he urged, trying to shoo her away. "Just think, if the guards see all three of us leave this area at once, they will think that we were involved.

"But what will you do?" Zahrati asked frantically, understanding Osman's logic, yet not wanting to leave him behind. This wasn't something that she was prepared for.

"I will throw them off. During that time, get Edwin awake and leave Al Ma'In as soon as you both can." Osman explained. "I will be fine, trust me. After all, what could an old man possibly do to these bandits?" He chuckled as he brought her head forward and kissed her on the forehead.

" _Kunn Baman_ , Zahrati." he whispered with a small smile. _Stay safe._ "I will await your return in Nazef. Now go."

Zahrati nodded grimly, and jogged out of the alleyway. Despite the maze-like formation of narrow streets having many twists and turns, Zahrati was able to avoid the guards as she listened to their distant shouts. She felt Edwin stirring on her shoulder, and increased her pace. Shortly after, she found a secluded area, far from Sutekh's complex, and began lightly slapping Edwin's face.

"Where are we?" Edwin question blearily, no doubt still recovering from unconsciousness.

"Far away from the bandits. Come on, we need to get ready to leave." Zahrati explained quickly.

"What about Osman? Where is he?"

"He is going to deal with the guards. We attracted a lot of them, and they will arrive soon."

Edwin didn't respond, and Zahrati took that as the cue for them to leave. They once again found themselves in one of the crowded streets of the city. Off in the distance, she could see the eastern gate of Al Ma'In, and they headed towards it. Along the way, they went to the stable that Osman had told them about. Words and money were exchanged, and soon she held the reins of two camels. The original plan had been for her and Edwin to ride one of the camels, and for Osman to ride the other.

 _At this point, one of them will have to be a pack camel._

"I didn't say goodbye to him." Edwin said forlornly after they had left the stable.

Zahrati looked down at him, then sighed in understanding. Kneeling, she brushed a lock of hair from Edwin's face and looked him in the eye.

"He's doing what's best for us, so try not to worry about it too much. He also told me to tell you that once this is all over, maybe you can come to Vacuo again sometime with your family. _Alssalf_ and I will gladly wait for you."

Edwin nodded mutely, and Zahrati now had to divert her attention to the gates looming ahead of them. Standing up, she counted fifteen guards, five on each side of the gate and another five randomly inspecting the people who entered. None of the guards regarded them, yet Zahrati held her breath as they began to cross the gate.

No commotion.

No shouting.

No one called them out.

Zahrati released a quiet sigh of relief as they fully crossed the gates. They were clear of Al Ma'In.

* * *

"So it is you," Osman said as he stood over the unconscious figure of Sutekh, covered in mounds of fire dust that had fallen atop of him. His quiet groans as he came to were increasingly drowned out by the approaching guards. Osman estimated that he had three minutes at best, so he had to act fast.

 _Ironic, that time would be against me_.

"I should have dealt with you a long time ago, when she was but a little girl. It pained me to watch her suffer through those nightmares. She didn't deserve any of it." Osman said, his face softening. Zahrati had been so helpless then when he took her in, and yet she had grown into a capable woman that he was truly proud of.

 _A granddaughter that I could never have._ He thought, looking at his worn hand. _Ever since I inherited this power._

"I would not have you suffer this burden anymore" Osman whispered. Zahrati still had so much to live for. There was no need to her to needlessly dirty her hands.

A small wisp of blue flame appeared and danced upon his finger, providing faint illumination. Unrefined dust was highly volatile and would react violently if mishandled. The crates that hand landed on Sutekh were filled with it, covering him in it That it had not exploded immediately when Zahrati broke the scaffolding was nothing short of a miracle.

 _Miracles. Bah, I stopped believing in them a long time ago._

He brought his finger ever closer to the dust. When it made contact, however, the fire stopped moving. It was still there, but it had stopped flickering and had stopped emanating heat. Such was his power. Separating his finger from the fire, Osman then walked out of the building, distancing himself from where Sutekh and the unconscious bandits were. Unrefined fire dust was fearsome indeed, and with the building having no windows...

When he was a safe distance away, he took a seat and settled himself, knowing full well that the guards would not associate the explosion with him. He was an old man, after all. The guards rushed by him, paying him no attention, towards the building. With a sigh, he released his concentration on the fire. After all, it was just a matter of controlling time.

Within the building, the tiny flame flickered once more before it reacted with the dust.

Osman paid no heed to the explosion or now surprised shouts of the guards. The entire interior of the building was on fire, and the high temperatures turned it into a live oven. No one inside would survive.

 _Good._

Of course, it would be written off as an accident by the authorities. There were more than enough cases of improper dust management, whether it be in mining, transporting, or refining They were few and far in between, but there would be no doubt of the volatility of unrefined fire dust. The guards attracted to the scene by witnesses who saw men dragging three people into said building would never realize the connection between the fire and Osman.

After all, he was an old man.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Old man. Time control. Who knew?**

 **So in less than 24 hours of me posting this chapter, I will be in the Pacific Ocean, trapped with two thousand other people in a ship that is far too large and headed for Mexico. Seven nights and 6 days without wi-fi, a good chunk of time for me to be alone with my thoughts. It also a very good amount of time to work on the beginning of the end for this arc, which will pretty much signal the earliest signs of the Great War beginning. Context matters and such, etc, etc.**

 **Assuming I have extra time, I've also been considering starting another fic. However, this would be a side project, so chapter updates most likely not follow a set schedule. It's an interesting concept, and I know that RoosterTeeth definitely won't release a World of Remnant segment that sends a wrecking ball through it. Nope. Not at all. That being said, Volume 5 of RWBY might throw a figurative wrench into the cogs if they introduce some specific characters.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **Edit: Some edits.**

 **-The Bard**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 22** -Rain and Thunder

* * *

The overcast sky rumbled with the sound of thunder in the distance. There was no rain yet, but it wouldn't have mattered. Training was training, regardless of weather conditions, and it held true for the two combatants facing off against their own dummies.

The Castinis base had a mix of dummy fields, combat rings, and firing ranges, many of which were always occupied. It just so happened that neither Julius nor Donovan were due for patrols that day, and thus chose to touch up on their forms. They had been practicing on the dummies for a few hours now, with nothing but the rumbling sky and the marching orders in the distance to accompany their breathing.

There were many forms to keep track of, each serving a different purpose in combat. The one thing said forms held in common was that they were designed to work with a unit of soldiers more so than with a single person.

Donovan let out a controlled exhale as he swung his sword down onto the dummy's head, completing a form. Were it a live Grimm, it would have been cloven in two down the center. Immediately, he brought his shield back up to guard, mentally readying himself for the next set.

Julius did likewise on the dummy next to him. Unlike Donovan, however, he seemed far more well-versed in swordplay compared to him. Whereas he was somewhat brutish in his movements, Julius displayed a natural grace as he swung and weaved his sword at the dummy.

 _A rifle for me, a sword for him. To each their own._

When it came to comparing against Connor, they were no match. He was one of the best shots in their platoon, possibly even in the entire base. And wielding the sword almost seemed like second nature to him.

 _There's definitely someone in his family who's military._

His thoughts slipped away as he concluded his little mental break, and he resumed delivering fatal blows to the dummy. That being said, he couldn't help but grow tired of his training regiment, both physically and mentally. Barring his slightly aching arm, he felt as if he was losing track of what he was doing, letting his muscle memory take over.

 _Then again, I guess that's a good thing._

With a small sigh, Donovan sheathed his sword and let his shield down, content to watch Julius as he finished his form. Afterwards, he glanced to the side, noticing that Donovan had already finished.

"Done for the day?" he asked.

"Yep," Donovan replied. "I don't think I have another swing in me. Not that I'm tired, it's just the monotony that's getting to me."

"No kidding. My mind kept drifting around, wasn't really paying attention."

"And what has the great tinkerer come up with now?" he joked with a lofty voice. "I do not know if my mind can handle your limitless genius. Please, forgive me."

"Right, and that's inventor for you," he shot back. "I'm currently thinking I can knock your ass down for that little quip."

"Oh really now? Well, the combat rings are just a short distance away. Or would you like me to fetch a carriage, for one so intellectually gifted as you are?"

"Shut up," he said as he shoved his way past Donovan with a glint in his eye. Donovan chuckled. It was always so easy to get under his skin. That's what brothers did.

* * *

Donovan winced as he blocked a swing from the left, leaving his shield arm stinging, knowing already that it was going to bruise. They had set their swords aside for the wooden training alternatives, yet they hurt no less. The things were almost like clubs, which made them quite a pain to deal with in armor.

Donovan took a step forward, swinging in large arcs to create some distance between them, his shield always on guard. Julius was of a leaner build, and he used it to its full advantage as he danced in and out of Donovan's slower movement. However, Donovan used that to his advantage as well, forcing him back with a slow advance as he turtled up behind his shield and armor.

Julius sidestepped a downward swing and was forced to block awkwardly as Donovan redirected his swing toward Julius' legs. Playing into Donovan's plan, he gave up ground with a quick backwards hop.

 _Need to do something soon. He might be slower, but he's no pushover._

He quickly thrust his blade towards one of the shoulder joints in Donovan's armor to knock him off balance, where there was less protection. It connected, striking back Donovan's sword arm, but that caused his shield arm to rotate forward straight into a shield charge. They grunted as their shields clashed, each of them trying to topple one another. Their eyes met during the lock, but there was no malice. For them, it was no more than just a friendly spar.

 _Since when was he this strong?_

It was a strange question to ask, really, but for Julius, it felt like pushing against an immovable boulder. Recognizing that he would soon be overpowered, he angled his own shield ever so slightly, and with a quick sidestep and a sweep of his sword, let Donovan's momentum carry him forward and into the ground. He winced as he heard the armor make impact, with the person inside doing no better.

"Well, it's not your ass on the ground, but I'll take what I can get," Julius noted, leaning on his sword. "Your form still needs some more work." He offered a hand in assistance.

Donovan took it and rose, coughing as he did so.

"That was dirty move."

"No, it was an intelligent one," Julius corrected.

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in, why don't you?" Donovan rolled his eyes as they returned the wooden swords.

"You know what? I think I will."

"That was sarcasm." Donovan chuckled. However, the chuckle was silenced as a flare of pain shot through the back of his head, causing him to bring his hands up to his head with a groan. Eyes shut in pain, he muttered a few choice expletives.

Julius could do nothing but watch as Donovan suffered through his episode. The headaches had begun a few weeks after he had been released from the base hospital, all occurring where Donovan had tripped and hit himself. They had gone back a few times to find out what was wrong, but each time there was no solution or possible explanation. The injury had healed remarkably well, and subsequent questioning, testing, and check-ins had all marked him as mentally sound, with no harmful lingering effects present at all.

After a minute or two, the pain receded, and Donovan slowly brought his hands down, taking deep breaths.

"Still as bad as before?" Julius asked quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"About the same. Maybe a bit less than before," Donovan sighed. "But the pain goes away quickly, so there's not too much to worry about."

"But it is something to worry about. What if this happens during a patrol? What'll you do then when it happens?" he pointed out, crossing his arms.

"I'll fall back if need be. And besides, it hasn't happened so far when I've been training and doing patrols, so hopefully, it stays that way."

"But—"

"But nothing, Julius," Donovan responded. "The medical officers say I'm clear, so I'll take their word for it."

Julius took this as the cue to stop talking about it, so he simply nodded and continued walking. In the silence that followed, he decided to change the topic.

"How about we head over to the city proper? With all the patrols and other tasks, we haven't had time to really go and check it out until now."

"I guess so. It'd be pretty interesting to take a look." Donovan shrugged.

"What about Connor? Is he up to anything?"

"Beats me. We're in the same platoon, though, so he shouldn't be busy today."

"Let's go find him then. Lead the way."

Knowing Connor's work ethic, he probably wouldn't have actually taken a break on a day off. Thus, the two were rewarded with the sight of him with his rifle pointed down the firing range towards a dummy littered with bullet holes. They watched quietly as Connor placed shot after shot into it with consistent accuracy, all around the upper chest and head area. After unloading another five magazines, Connor set his rifle down, clicked the safety on, and raised an eyebrow when he turned and saw them.

"And how long have you two been here for?" he questioned.

"A bit," Julius answered. "That dummy certainly isn't getting a day off."

"Shouldn't you two be training?"

"We already did. Had a little spar with Donovan here afterward and showed him his place."

Connor looked at Donovan, who only shrugged. With a small smirk, he began inspecting and cleaning his rifle. There was nothing amiss, so he slung it over a shoulder and walked over to them.

"So why are you here?" Connor asked.

"Well, seeing as we technically have the day off, I was thinking we could go check out Castinis proper. That is, if you're not busy, of course." Julius explained.

"I don't think I would mind," Connor replied after a moment of thought. It certainly would be quite the reprieve from the monotonous cycle of patrols and training. Even Connor had his limits.

* * *

The first place they chose to go to was Castinis' market district. During the day, it was the liveliest portion of the city, where people came to trade and re-supply. As a crossroads city, many a trinkets and baubles, faces and names, flowed through these streets. Castinis' market district never remained the same day to day.

Unsurprisingly, Julius looked as if he was in heaven. The selection of wares and trinkets seemed to overwhelm him as he hopped to and fro from vendors, asking questions at a pace neither Donovan nor Connor could keep track of. The vendors themselves, fortunately, had enough experience in their trade to keep up, which only brought more excitement for Julius.

"Never a dull day with him, huh?" Connor asked, lifting a little carved wooden charm from the trinket stand. It supposedly warded against Grimm and other misfortune during travels, and Connor examined it closely. He was told that it that the small orb was carved and sanded from a white ash tree, but what was interesting was that it had an even smaller sphere within it, clattering as he shook it.

 _A properly placed bullet to the head would also ward against Grimm, but I suppose people have their superstitions._

"With Julius? Always, There's always some idea or absurdity running through his head. But you should see him when he's in front of a lot of people. Then it gets really interesting." Donovan replied to the side, picking out and ringing a small bell meant to attract good fortune. The note rang clear and seemed to go on and on until Donovan put a hand over it.

"How so?"

"Simply put, he clams up. My guess is that he can't handle attention from many people at once," he explained.

"And you know this how?"

'The first time it happened was when we just started helping dad out with the business. It was a pretty busy day that day, and Julius was left to deal with the customers. It got so bad, him trying to attend to every one of them, that he tripped and dropped an entire rack of farm tools on a customer."

"That couldn't have been pleasant."

"No, but it was hilarious. Except for maybe the customer who was on the receiving end of the tools. But he was my dad's friend, so it ended up being alright."

"What are you guys doing here?" Julius asked as he came over, having already made a few purchases. "Oh, didn't know you were interested in charms and trinkets."

"They're interesting to look at," Connor replied. With the orb charm in hand, Connor fished out some lien and gave the proper amount to the vendor, who nodded in satisfaction. Donovan, on the other hand, set the small bell back down.

"Where to next?" Donovan asked as they walked down the center street of the district, surrounded by the noise of transactions and people bartering.

Connor looked up as the first drops of rain fell on him, if it could even be called that. It was closer to a heavy mist, but the growing rumble of thunder indicated that it would change for the worse soon. Many of the buildings and stalls had some form of cover, so business was still largely undeterred in the rain. The same couldn't be said for the three, as the rain slowly began seeping into their clothing.

"So much for staying dry," he commented out loud. "We should probably head back now actually."

"Way ahead of you. While you stand there and contemplate the nature of water, Julius and I will head back." Donovan chuckled, already walking ahead with Julius.

"Of course." Connor smirked and caught up.

"While we're here, you want to take a detour?" Julius asked, eyeing the goods and wares on display as they passed them.

"Why? Is something the matter?" Connor queried.

"Not really. We're finally here in Castinis proper, might as well explore just a little bit more before we head back. Who knows when we'll have another opportunity like this?" he explained. Donovan and Connor nodded.

"Sounds good to me."

They took a turn at the end of the street, and the noise immediately began to lessen. As they ventured further off the main road, the light slowly began to wane, as did the buildings around them. Eventually, they found themselves in an unknown district, one that did not have a particularly welcoming atmosphere. The houses and buildings were in terrible condition, many of which were in various states of disrepair. The rain was coming down heavier now, with muddy puddles forming around their feet.

The few people that they did see all had hoods over their heads as they scurried around, faces hidden in the growing rain. Aside from that, it almost looked as if the district was uninhabited.

"Where are we again?" Connor asked. "You sure we didn't take a wrong turn?

"I'm not sure…" Julius replied, looking around.

"Over there." Donovan pointed toward one of the buildings further down the street. They could see a figure of a man in somewhat ragged clothing walking away from them. They also all saw the horns protruding outward and to the side of his head in a spiral.

"A ram faunus?" Connor asked with an eyebrow raised.

"We're in a faunus district?"

"I didn't even know Castinis had one."

"We should probably turn back. I don't like the feel of this place," Connor instructed.

"Sure."

As they made their way back to the market district, they saw two soldiers walking towards them, one in Valean equipment and the other in Mantlean. From their uniforms and equipment, it was clear that the two corporals had been assigned to city patrol duty. Neither of them looked pleased with it, though.

A commotion behind them caught their attention. Another faunus, a canine derivative, had been pulling a two-wheeled wagon, and one of the wheels had fallen off, spilling its contents onto the ground. The older individual kept his head down as he began attempting to re-attach the wheel, which was a fruitless endeavor. The bearing had broken, which meant that the wheel would no longer stay on. As the three watched it unfold, the two guards walked past them and towards the faunus.

"You need to clear this obstruction off the street," the Mantlean soldier ordered. "Now."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," the faunus coughed. He attempted putting the wheel back on, but it immediately fell off. "Could you help me, please?"

"Bridges, assist him," the Mantlean soldier told the Valean one.

"Don't order me around, prick." Bridges growled with open hostility. He went over to the wagon and forcefully dragged it to the side of the street, spilling even more of the wagon's contents onto the now muddy dirt. He walked back and stood face to face with the Mantlean soldier.

"That good enough for you, Holland? How about I go and slather some high-and-mighty onto that wagon so it'll be good enough?"

"We are of the same rank, Bridges, which makes us equals, but do not make me report to your superior officers for belligerent behavior," Hollandcalmly reprimanded, but there was a noticeable steel in his voice. Bridges then seemed to noticed the three staring in the distance, and his scowl deepened.

"What the hell are you conscripts looking at?" he barked at them. "Fuck off!"

Before the three could respond, Bridges stormed off and Holland followed behind. The dog faunus silently picked up his wares from the mud, wiping them off slightly with his shirt before placing it back into the wagon.

"Come on," Donovan said quietly. The others nodded, and they made their way back into one of the mains roads that would eventually lead back to the base. As they walked away, however, Connor couldn't help but feel that they were being watched.

* * *

 **A/N- Some swearing. Oooooo. Time for a rating change?**

 **So this fic is set in the Great War, where anti-faunus sentiments were even higher than in the current RWBY timeline. Hence, not even Julius, Donovan, or Connor would willingly help the dog faunus. They aren't necessarily bad people because of that, but rather responding (or in this case, not) in a way that is appropriate for the historical context at that time.**

 **Changes to the other chapters will come out by the end of next week. Turns out there were only two or three plot points that needed changing/adding, and even then it isn't too different. The story as a whole, however, is something I will address once I complete this arc of the fic. There are many more issues that I have come across that aren't plot-related, but do end up causing noticeable problems with the fic anyways. One of the more obvious ones is chapter pacing.**

 **The other fic I was talking about is being worked on right now, but nothing too much yet. Turns out you can't just shut yourself into the ship's stateroom to relax, think, and write. Gotta spend time with family, regardless of how tiring it is.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 23:** Chance Meetings

* * *

They didn't think much when they saw the old man traveling towards them in the distance. They were headed over to Al Ma'In themselves to fulfill a contract. However, as the old man's face became recognizable, their faces lit up in joy.

" _Salaam,_ Osman!" The leader of the group called out with a wave. He was a sturdy man with a deep bellowing laugh, and was around the same age as Nusar.

" _Salaam,_ Halim," Osman responded in kind. There were many mercenary groups for hire in Vacuo, and Halim was in charge of one of the larger ones. But one thing that many groups shared in common was their recognition of Osman, who had once led the largest of them all to victory in the bandit wars.

"It has been far too long since we last met, old friend." Halim laughed as he shook Osman's hand. "Are you well?"

"Well enough," Osman replied. "I see you are busy as usual."

"Let's just say that Vacuo's new venture with Mantle has opened up many more avenues of wealth, and it would be remiss of us to simply ignore it."

"I see. If I recall, Nusar and his men have been taking some as well in various places."

"Nusar? You'd think that with how much he works, he could afford to relax occasionally. Find a woman for himself, settle down, and be happy," Halim pointed out.

"In his defense, there are certain liberties that one retains if they choose to remain solitary," Osman chuckled.

"But you can not say the same, no? I'm talking about your granddaughter," Halim explained to Osman, who had raised an eyebrow. "Last time I saw her, she was only a young woman, ready to join Nusar and his men out in the desert."

"Really has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. If she's learned half of what you've have over the years, then she'll be set for the future."

"Nonsense," Osman dismissed, "she is a capable woman, and she certainly doesn't need my help."

"If you say so." Halim shrugged. "Who am I to question your wisdom?"

"You certainly did much of that when you were trying to to win Roshana's heart some years ago. The entire time you thought Nusar was attempting to do the same."

Halim stuttered as his men laughed around him. Osman chuckled as he gave Halim a reassuring pat on the shoulders.

"If anything, I should congratulate you. I hear you have twins coming soon?"

"Yes." Halim beamed. "You should come and visit soon. Roshana and the children miss you as well."

"I will keep that in mind. Come now, you shouldn't let this old man keep you here. You have money to make and mouths to feed. Off you go."

Having finished his business with the mercenaries, Osman continued on his way. Anyone would assume that he was returning to Nazef, and they would be partially right; there was a short detour that he had to take.

* * *

The cave itself was small, narrow, and largely unappealing. Anyone who stumbled upon it would have done so by accident, and they would not have found anything of value. For Osman, on the other hand, it was a place he could call home. There were four in total, one in each kingdom, hidden from the eyes of people. It was somewhere he could go, no matter in which incarnation, where he could be alone.

 _At least until the maidens found me._

He stepped into the cave, looking around to make sure that there was no one in the vicinity. Not that there should have been anyone, but it never hurt to be safe. He walked deeper into the cave until he could go no further. He traced his hands over the rock face, muttering quietly to himself as he did so. At first, all was still, but then the sand beneath him shifted. A rough staircase formed, and the sand slithered downwards, leading into a darkened corridor.

As he walked through the corridor, the torches on the wall lit up, providing illumination as he walked further. Eventually, he reached a door, one that silently glided open as he pushed it. Inside was his room, sparsely furnished with a bed, a desk with scrolls and parchments, and a small unlit fire pit in the center for cooking.

It had been decades since he had been here.

Despite that, he was not here to simply be alone. He walked over to the bed and pulled it away, leaving him with yet another wall. In similar fashion as before, he moved his hand around the wall and muttered quietly. Faint lines appeared on the wall before him, forming into the shape of a door. Pushing it open, he was greeted with a winding staircase that went further down. There were fewer torches here as he descended, but it proved unnecessary as a ethereal blue glow appeared below him.

As the stairs became even ground, Osman found himself looking at a large underground lake within a naturally formed chamber. The water glowed in his presence, casting the ethereal blue glow. However, the contents within the lake was anything but inviting.

To call it a Grimm was accurate enough, but after that the similarities diverged. As soon as Osman looked upon the lake, the writing black mass began undulating and swirling within the glowing blue water, the surface of which remained unnaturally still. A gaunt veiled face appeared and glared at him from the depths, its head the size of two men atop one another. The disembodied head surged forward and opened its maw to scream, but the surface of the lake did little more than ripple as the chamber remained quiet.

There was no name for it, for it was one of the rarest of all Grimm, and for good reason too. Osman took time to recollect on when it first appeared, nearly fifty lives ago. It had appeared over the skies of Vacuo, a black shade that hovered over the land. No one knew what it was, and no one, save Osman, lived to tell the tale. It surprised him, even now, how he managed to survive and capture the abomination, keeping it trapped below the lake.

"So it has awakened."

"So it has, Osman."

* * *

The robed figure remained silent as she sat by the table, saying nothing as Osman placed a cup of water next to her. He repressed the urge to sigh. Of all the people he could he could have ran into, she was the one that he expected the least.

"Are you doing well, Osman?"

"Well enough. I may have aged and now have this blasted walking stick, but I'm still more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Certainly, but I didn't think the desert would be such place to make a living."

"Of course you didn't, and yet, here we are. It seems anyone can just barge into an old man's home these days." Osman took a sip from his own cup. "And how about you?"

"As well as I can be, I suppose," she stated simply. "To be fair, it's quite telling when there's an open staircase inside an otherwise nondescript cave."

"Bah," Osman scoffed as he set his cup down. She had probably re-opened the entrance herself.

"So, Osman," the robed figure began, "do you wish to tell me what you have hidden there in that lake? I have never seen anything like it in all of my lives."

"It is good that you haven't." Osman answered. "That… thing, is a monstrosity, even among the Grimm."

"Surely it can't be that bad?"

"Do you remember the settlement of Harad?" Osman asked.

"Yes," she answered after a moment of thought, "it fell to the Grimm, didn't it?"

"It did." Osman nodded. "Now, I am no stranger to the Grimm's handiwork. I've seen people mauled to death, torn apart from limb to limb, the list goes on and on. But never before had I seen an entire settlement of people shed blood for tears, all due to the beast below us."

"What? How?"

"The Grimm opened its mouth in the sky, and it screamed. A harrowing, piercing note that drove men insane as they clutched their ears, blood leaking from every orifice of their face. No one that day was graced with a swift death as their screams mingled with the Grimm's."

"And what about you?" the figure asked after a moment of silence.

"I was able to to stop it, given some time. But I was not immune to its scream, so the best I could manage then was to capture it and seal it in the lake below. That incarnation went deaf for the better part of a year following the incident, and his body never quite felt the same," Osman concluded, tightening his robes around him.

"So why haven't you killed it now?"

"The thought has crossed my mind many times. But to my surprise, it has a unique characteristic," he explained. "It is usually dormant when it is sealed below us, but there are times when it will wake in response to a Grimm of its caliber."

"A Grimm of its caliber?"

"There are 'common' Grimm like the Creeps, Beowolves, and Ursas. There are some uncommon ones like the Painweavers, Gryphons, and Beringels. And then there are the rare ones, the ones that pass into legend. The one below us is an exception, as no one who has seen it so far has lived, aside from me and you."

"So it is reacting to one in Vacuo?'

"It is likely, yes. If I were to venture a guess, it would be responsible for the recent earthquakes that have rocked this part of the continent."

"What should we do about it then?" the figure asked.

"I will need some time to think on it." Osman answered. "I have only just come today, and this is not a matter that we can rashly decide upon."

"But-"

"You do not need to worry for now. When the time comes, I will call for you."

"I can hardly just sit here and allow-"

"Just because we do not act now does not mean we are disregarding the threat of the Grimm." Osman reprimanded sternly as he stood up. "If we hastily agitate it now, it could potentially go on a rampage and end countless lives. That is a cost that we can not take."

The figure remained silent, and Osman took his seat once again.

"I ask you to trust me on this."

"Fine."

"Good." Osman nodded. "Regardless of whether you came or not today, I would have most likely called for you. That does beg the question then: why are you here?"

"I caught a…familiar scent."

"A scent, you say?" Osman looked up as he took another sip from his cup.

"Yes. And curiously, it led me here, to you."

"You speak of Zahrati, do you not?"

Her head lifted slightly at this, but nothing else to betray her emotions. "You know of her?"

"It does not take a sage to conjure a connection, especially given her heritage. She also has a small patch of scales left forearm just like you, and her eyes dilate into slits in time of extreme emotion."

"How do you know of this?"

"She has been living under my care for the past fifteen years in Nazef." Osman finished his water and placed the cup back down onto the table.

Her head now jerked upwards at this seeming revelation, and Osman could finally see her eyes below her hood. They were a sharp turquoise, and her pupils were black, vertical slits.

"Fifteen years? What happened to Ismael and Rana? I left Zahrati under their care after she was born."

"They were killed in a bandit raid. Zahrati survived but lived her life from then with a brand."

"Brand?"

"A _wasumm_ , to be exact." _A slave brand._

"What happened to her? Is she well?" she asked tentatively, expecting Osman to answer. However, he simply poured himself another cup in silence.

"Aside from the fact that she is alive and well, I will tell you no more. You do not deserve to know." He responded curtly after topping off his cup and taking another sip.

"But she is my daugh—"

"You relinquished your right to call yourself her mother the moment you left her to the mercy of the _wasumm_." Osman set his cup down audibly, as if to make a point. "Your lover and his sister, who both raised her as best as they could, were killed by the same slavers."

"I was following my duties as a Maiden!"

"If that is your reason, then you have besmirched what it means to be a Maiden. You, along with the other three, carry the burden to ensure the wellbeing of humanity, but that does not give you the right to abandon your own flesh and blood."

Her mouth was agape, yet she said nothing.

"I expected more of you, Sarai. Ismael and Rana were good people. I do not blame you for their deaths, but I cannot help but think that if you had not tossed aside the responsibility of—"

He went silent as an unnaturally strong gust of wind blew into the underground room. A slow gathering of energy could be felt from the person sitting across from him as the scrolls and parchments on the desk were blown aside. He was well familiar with the raw, primal energy that threatened to spill forth; he had been the one to grant it to them, after all.

"Do not preach to me about 'responsibility', Osman." Sarai's voice rumbled, fueled by mystic power. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it reached Osman clearly. "You think I wanted this? You think I am happy with how things turned out?"

Osman remained silent, choosing to respect the Summer Maiden's power. Eventually, Sarai took a deep breath and reigned in her power, and the unnatural wind in the room ceased.

"That thing you have hidden in the cave is already more than enough proof that I don't have much of a choice in this matter. I always thought it strange, with the abnormal Grimm movements recently, that you hadn't contacted me or the other maidens. Were you planning to keep this all from us?"

"Perhaps it is because I am worried," Osman sighed, "or maybe even afraid. I have lived many lives in peace, and I guess this old man simply wanted to enjoy it a little bit more."

"This isn't like when we first me, Osman," Sarai told him. "You cannot simply hide yourself away from the world seeking solitude. There's more at stake than ever now, and I hope you can recognize that."

Osman examined the weathered hands that held his cup. Age was a trivial issue for him in the grand scheme of things, and the passage of time was a single, unbroken line that stretched forever. And yet, in holding the cup in his hands, Osman truly felt old.

Sarai stook from her seat and dusted her robes off. She headed to the door but stopped and turned her head to look at him.

"When it is time, call for me. I will come."

Osman watched as she began walking through the corridor, away from him and back out into the desert.

"Sarai!" Osman called out. "If all goes as planned, Zahrati will make her way back to Nazef in three weeks' time."

Sarai did not turn around, but her stopping was more than enough acknowledgement for him. After a moment, she continued walking, until Osman could see her no more.

* * *

 **A/N: Backstory stuff, plot stuff, oh my! We learn more about the Grimm threat, Zahrati's mother, and Osman's mind. All of it relevant, of course.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned by RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 24:** Farrin

* * *

Zahrati yawned as she tended to the small fire, the night sky partially covered by a canopy of trees. They had returned their camels a while back at a secluded desert outpost and continued their journey on foot on solid dirt paths. They now found themselves within the verdant forests outside the Kingdom of Vale. Before reaching Castinis, they would re-supply at Farrin, one of Vale's fringe frontier towns.

Compared to Vacuo, Vale wasn't as hot during the day, nor was it as cold during the night. Not that she minded. It was quite relaxing not having to worry about either extreme in temperature threatening to kill her.

Her eyes drifted to the side, where Edwin lay fast asleep. He had handled the journey well, not once uttering a word of complaint as they trekked through both desert and forest. Zahrati found herself somewhat astounded that Edwin came out relatively unscathed, given the bizarre turn of events that brought him to Vacuo.

If anything, he was quite excited at the prospect of returning home to his parents, a sentiment that she only partially shared. Part of it was curiosity, and another small part envy. She would never know what it would feel like to have a mother and a father, roles that Osman tried his best to fill. She was eternally grateful for that, but it wasn't wrong to say that there was something lacking.

There was little left to remember of her parents. Vague shapes and voices, nothing that she could recognize. Many of her early memories were muddled, buried underneath her years as a child slave.

Pushing those unpleasant thoughts away with a quiet sigh, Zahrati stood and stretched. She wasn't particularly drowsy yet, so she decided to walk around the area, taking in the forest around her. Nothing too far from the small camp, however, to put Edwin at any risk.

Here in Vale, the trees grew tall and straight, far different than the twisted and gnarled ones that occasionally popped up in Vacuo. That being said, she felt slightly more at unease, especially when the trees and shrubbery in the forests acted as perfect cover for any ambushes, as opposed to the vast open stretches of sand.

 _Here's hoping there aren't any Hayik'alam around_. Zahrati shuddered as the screams of the caravan member echoed in her mind. However, that memory faded away to uncertainty as she noted the recent lack of Grimm in their travels. From what the maps told her, they were still in unclaimed territory just outside the kingdom's borders, where there was supposed to be a fairly numerous amount of Grimm. There had been many a times where she heard noises at night, and at one point the howl of a Beowulf, but they had yet to be forced into a confrontation.

Her musings were interrupted as her ears caught the faint sound of rustling some distance ahead of her past a bush. Immediately dropping to a crouch, she silently crept forward, paying heed to the loose branches underfoot. With the darkness concealing her, Zahrati peered through the leaves and found herself less than ten feet away from a Grimm. It was quadrupedal type with an armored back and visage, stout and stocky, and it dug at the ground in front of it with its large tusks. She followed its downward glare and found herself looking at a patch of bloody dirt.

There were a few scraps of bloody cloth as well, but nothing else to indicate that something violent had occurred here. The Boarbatusk then looked up, noticing the presence of sudden negative emotion. Namely, Zahrati's shock.

With little time to react, she dove out of the way as the Boarbatusk crashed through the brush with a squeal. It clumsily turned around as Zahrati drew and extended her axe. It pawed the ground, and Zahrati's eyes widened as it drew itself into a ball, forcing her to dodge once again as it barreled past her. She uttered a silent curse as the tree behind her toppled with a mighty crash, not wanting to imagine what would have happened if she didn't dodge.

Taking the initiative, Zahrati ran towards the Grimm before it could recover, readying her axe for a mighty swing. With a grunt, she sent the blade flying into its bony mask, jarring her as the reverberation forced her backwards.

At the very least, it seemed that all of the Boarbatusk's attacks were somewhat telegraphed. As she watched the Grimm ready itself again, she noticed some splinters sticking out of its underside, no doubt from the tree that it had just downed. As it stood, it was a war of attrition and force that she could not win. With a plan quickly formulating in her mind, one that was undoubtedly risky, Zahrati readied herself for an upward swing.

Time seemed to slow down as the Boarbatusk charged once again. Forcing herself to stay still, Zahrati watched as it barreled ever closer to her. With a yell, she spun to the side and brought her axe up, and was rewarded with the sensation of her axe passing through Grimm flesh. With its forward charge stopped, the two halves flew forward, spewing black ichor as they went and crashing into the brush.

Panting, Zahrati retracted her axe and began making her way back to the camp where Edwin was. She could hardly contain her disbelief when, somehow, Edwin had managed to stay asleep through the fight. His breathing was slow and steady, and Zahrati resisted the urge to let him stay that way. If there was one Grimm, there was a chance for more.

"Edwin, wake up," Zahrati whispered as she shook him lightly on the shoulder. Edwin groaned as his eyes slowly opened.

"It's not light out yet," he yawned as he rubbed his eyes.

"It isn't, but it's not safe here."

"What?"

"I ran into a Grimm earlier," Zahrati explained. "I don't know if there will be more. We're not too far from Farrin, so we'll be better off if we can get there as soon as possible."

Edwin's eyes widened as he sat up, now fully awake. Inquiring no more, they immediately began packing their supplies. After everything was accounted for and the fire was extinguished and buried, they were ready to depart.

They travelled throughout what remained of the night, keeping quiet at Zahrati strained her senses for anything out of the ordinary. The presence of Grimm, even one she hadn't encountered before, did little to rattle her. Rather, it was the patch of bloody dirt and cloths that disturbed her more. Where had the blood come from? Why was it so close to Farrin? As the night sky gave way to morning and turned orange, Zahrati knew something was wrong. In the short time they had been in Vale, they had always heard songbirds chirping with every new morning. As strange as they were to Zahrati, the morning chirping had always been consistent.

Now, there was only an unnatural silence.

As the sun peeked above the forest treeline, Zahrati and Edwin were able to find a rough road on the map that supposedly led to Farrin. As they followed the road, however, the initially faint smell of blood grew stronger, even to the point where Edwin could smell it.

"Get out your knife and stay behind me," Zahrati ordered, drawing her weapon. At this point, the smell was overwhelming, and a sharp turn left on the road led to a clearing, where the town of Farrin came into view.

At least, what was left of it.

Most of the small buildings were in shambles, and the bloody dirt at their feet was far more pronounced. The smell of rot now mixed with the iron scent of blood, and Zahrati could only assume the worst for the doomed town.

They approached the building closest to them, constantly looking around to make sure that there were no remaining Grimm. Motioning for Edwin to keep his distance, Zahrati circled around to where the door was. Mentally readying herself, she took a deep breath. Exhaling, she kicked open the door.

It was the stench that immediately assaulted her senses. Eyes adjusting quickly, Zahrati took in a scene of destruction and bloodshed. All of the tables and furniture had been completely demolished, with glass and shredded tapestries strewn about the floor, and noticeably large prints scattered around the wooden floor.

Heading towards the origin of the scent, Zahrati was greeted with an even more disturbing scene in the bedroom. There were a pile of chewed bones in the corner, picked clean of any flesh. The dried blood around and gouge marks in the wood told her more than enough as to what had happened here. She could only hope that their death was a quick one.

She searched the rest of the house, looking for anything of interest. It proved to be fruitless, as the Grimm seemed to have gone through and destroyed everything.

She quickly spun around as she heard movement behind her. Brandishing her axe, Zahrati lowered it a moment later when it turned out to be only Edwin. He didn't seem affected by the stench, but she was more worried about the look of concern on his face.

"There are people coming."

She quickly ordered Edwin to stay inside, and left the building only to see numerous armored soldiers approaching their location. Despite not wanting to cause a confrontation, Zahrati kept her axe out. Just in case.

"Halt! State your purpose here!" the lead soldier called out. They all looked at her cautiously, but fortunately none had drawn their weapons.

"I am making my way to Castinis!" Zahrati replied. "I just arrived here."

The lead soldier then approached her, arms raised so as to not startle them. Even then, he cut an intimidating figure and was easily a head taller than Zahrati.

"My name is Zahrati. I come from Nazef, in the kingdom of Vacuo."

"I am Sergeant Ralston of the Valean army. If we had met under different circumstances, I would have loved to hear why you made such a journey. But it is not safe to be here, Miss Zahrati," he explained. "We were sent from Castinis to investigate after Farrin's merchants stopped coming two weeks ago. Unfortunately, the Grimm were quite thorough this time."

"No one survived?" she asked, retracting her axe.

"None." Sergeant Ralston shook his head. "I had hoped that we would be able to find even a single person within this chaos, but I guess even that is too much to— Edwin?"

Zahrati turned around and saw that Edwin had left the building and now stood behind her, and the boy looked at the soldier with wide eyes.

"Mr. Ralston!"

Immediately, Ralston's eyes hardened as his gaze returned to Zahrati, a hand now resting on his sword.

"What did you say your purpose here again was?" Ralston repeated, his voice tinted with suspicion. Zahrati took a step back, regarding him warily.

 _Does he think I'm responsible for taking Edwin?_

"She saved me from slavers and brought me back from Vacuo," Edwin stepped in. Ralston kept his eyes locked on Zahrati, but, eventually, the hand on his sword fell, and his stance relaxed somewhat.

"If what he says is true, then I am in your gratitude." He bowed.

"How do you two know each other?" Zahrati asked, now curious as to the relationship between the two. Sergeant Ralston, imposing and firm. Edwin, small and inquisitive.

"The town children are curious and always approached us when we went patrolling. I'd daresay they've grown on us over time," Ralston smirked, "but that is a story for ano-"

All conversation halted as a warbling howl sounded through the air, far in the distance. There was no response, but that didn't mean that it didn't go unheard. Everyone drew their weapons for the first time since arriving in Farrin, readying themselves for a potential confrontation. They all looked to Sergeant Ralston, who turned to them and shook his head grimly.

"The village of Farrin is lost," he stated. "Make ready to return to Castinis."

This time, more howls echoed through the air. Edwin clutched his dagger as Zahrati extended her axe once again.

"Do we fight?" she asked. It would be difficult, having to fend off the Grimm as well as keeping Edwin safe. It was a fact that Sergeant Ralston recognized as well. Their primary objective was to find out what happened to Farrin and to see if there were any survivors. There was nothing left for them to do.

"No. We must leave. Now."

* * *

 **A/N: So yeah, Zahrati speaks English. Everyone in this fic does. Keeps things simple. Sure, proper nouns and terms of addressing people like a _lssalf_ are Arabic, but that's more to just add flavor and background to the people and region of Vacuo. For example, the city of Nishimon in Chapter 20 is literally "Western Gate" (Japanese).**

 **That aside, the plot moves on. Realistically, I can say with 75% confidence that this arc will conclude at or within 4 chapters. Here's hoping I don't get screwed over by the other 25%.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25:** Coming and Going

* * *

"Sergeant Ralston reporting in, sir!" he said in a clear voice, hand to his head in salute. He barely had time to catch his breath as he held the salute. Despite wanting to escort Zahrati the rest of the way to Castinis, this was far more important.

"At ease, Sergeant." Colonel Moran saluted in return. As the Valean commander of the Castinis base, he held a stern demeanor, shaped by years of fighting Grimm in the forests of Vale. "So, what is the situation at Farrin?"

"It's as you suspected, sir. Farrin has fallen to the Grimm."

"How bad was it?"

"We weren't able to find a single survivor, and there were still Grimm in the area. Beowolf howls, to be exact, but we quickly left after the search came up empty. However, we did stumble upon an individual travelling from Vacuo, and with her was the Castinis child that went missing over a month ago."

"I remember hearing of that. What happened to him?"

"I recall we had a few traders come from the fringe of Vacuo around the time of the kidnapping. It seemed that their ulterior motive was to look for children to kidnap and sell into slavery."

"I see. And where is the pair now?"

"They are currently heading to Castinis to bring him back to his parents. We would have accompanied them there, but I felt that the issue of Farrin was a far more pressing matter."

"Indeed. What happened there is tragic, to be sure, but now we must prepare for what comes next." Moran sighed, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. "With Farrin gone, there is always a possibility that Castinis will be next. We aren't exactly close to the border, but it's a risk we must consider," Colonel Moran explained, rubbing his chin.

"How many Grimm do you think there were, Sergeant?"

"Judging by the thoroughness of the destruction and the fact that there wasn't a single survivor, I'd say at least two to three hundred," Ralston estimated with a sigh."

"Do you think four hundred is a possibility?"

"Unlikely, but not impossible. I'd rather not believe it's that drastic, sir."

"Neither would I, but we must assume the worst if we are to be prepared enough." Moran stated, turning around to look down at some papers on his desk.

"There is one thing I'm curious about, sir," Ralston said, once again receiving Moran's attention.

"Hm?"

"It's been two weeks since we've last seen Farrin merchants in Castinis markets. The journey is but a four day trek. If we had arrived after Farrin had fallen, why haven't the Grimm already attacked Castinis?"

"It could be for a number of reasons. Maybe it was an isolated attack, or the Grimm were drawn in unintentionally by some stray emotions. Neither of these situations warrant the Grimm to immediately head towards the next area of human settlement. You said you heard howls in the area as well, so maybe they were still attached to the lingering misery that befell the village."

Ralston swallowed nervously as he considered what Colonel Moran told him. The possibility of a Grimm attack was unlikely, but considering number of Grimm that destroyed Farrin, there was a chance that they would eventually wander close enough to sense the people of Castinis.

"How many platoons do we have in Castinis at the moment?" Moran asked.

"Five platoons, sir. Platoons Ten to Fourteen, totaling two-hundred and fifty men."

"Double it. Add in a three cannon squadrons to the town walls for good measure. If anyone asks, tell them that it's part of a training exercise."

"Do you think that will be enough men, sir?"

"To our northwest lies the Valean mountain range, but in this case, we can hardly rely on it as a natural barrier like the capital can. Should the Grimm come, they will come from the southwest, and we will only be able to rely on ourselves. I do believe five-hundred men will optimal should any Grimm slip by.."

"With all due respect, sir, are you sure this is the best course of action? Shouldn't the people of Castinis have some warning?"

"I have thought about that, but I believe that it would only cause undue panic, and that is not something we can risk. Should everything go in our favor, we will be able to hold the Grimm at the walls of the base here with the remaining twenty platoons." Moran concluded. "Your report has been of utmost importance. For the time being, we should be prepared enough. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Julius exhaled softly as he fiddled with a small piece of wood, waiting for the morning bugle to sound. He had become used to waking up at the crack of dawn, and by now he woke up before the bugle more often than not.

When it finally sounded, the base rose as one, with soldiers all putting on their uniforms and completing their morning rituals. Afterwards, it was a quick run to the mess hall for breakfast, and then they separated to complete their own tasks.

A second bugle sounded, this one a call for a switch of the town guard, which occurred once a day. There were five flagpoles in the staging area, one for each platoon, this week for platoons Fifteen to Nineteen.

Julius paid it no heed, since he wasn't due for the change until tomorrow. However, the bugle sounded again, and he stopped in his tracks. He looked to Troy DeMarco, who walked next to him, but neither knew what was going on. There were never mistakes when it came to the bugle.

The two headed to the staging area, and were surprise when the sergeants from platoons Twenty to Tenty-four were present as well.

"Ten platoons?" Troy wondered out loud. The two walked over to Sergeant Muller, who returned their salutes.

"What's going on, sir?" Julius asked. "Is there a reason why the bugle sounded twice?"

"From what I've been told," Muller explained, "the village of Farrin, southeast of us, has fallen to the Grimm. There's been an order to double the amount of platoons active within Castinis."

"It's that bad, sir?" Troy asked.

"I wouldn't know. But to be honest, even if the number of men in Castinis had been doubled, there are still twenty platoons ready to intercept the Grimm, should they come."

Julius calmed down slightly at that. A single platoon of fifty men was enough to gun down a group of charging Ursa. What could they possibly hope to do against one thousand?

They waited as the rest of the extra platoons came, which didn't take long. As soon as all of them were assembled, they left for Castinis. As they marched, they crossed paths with platoons Ten to Fourteen, who had complete their shift.

Once they reached Castinis, they were immediately assigned to the tasks that the previous platoons had left behind and told to keep tight-lipped regarding the extra platoons. Julius and Troy were assigned to general patrol in the northeastern part of town, which meant that they walked the streets, maintaining order wherever necessary.

The town itself hadn't changed much, as ironic as that was. As a trading town, it had a constant influx of merchants and traders coming and going. As the two passed the street that led to the faunus district, Julius sighed as he remembered the unpleasant memory of the two soldiers from the previous time.

Shouting in the distance caught Troy's attention, and he let Julius know with a tap on the shoulder. They saw two men aggressively pointing fingers at each other, and immediately headed over to defuse the confrontation.

"What the problem?" Troy asked as the two went quiet in response to the newcomers. A quiet that ended too soon.

"How can you allow this swindler to cheat people out of their money?" The first one exclaimed, once again raising a finger at the man behind the stand. "He dares to try and sell faulty goods to me?!"

"This fool thinks he can get away with trying to pay with counterfeit currency?" The shopkeeper rebutted, slapping the offending finger away. "That's the same as theft!"

"This is perfectly valid money!" The first man yelled, taking out a few lien and shoving it towards Troy's and Juliu's faces. "See? See?"

"Give it up already." The shopkeeper waved a hand in exasperation. "If you two soldiers would kindly take this man and throw him behind bars, everyone's day will be improved immensely."

The first man's eyes twitched, and he turned towards the shopkeeper with fists raised. Before anything could happen, both Julius and Troy grabbed the man's shoulders, holding him in place.

"Regardless of who is at fault here," Julius explained, "violence will solve nothing. If you two would follow us, we can settle this in an orderly manner."

Whatever the response was about to be was silenced as the town's alarm bells began ringing. The man in their grip became largely forgotten, who looked around in confusion.

"Were there any bell tests scheduled?" he asked Troy, who shook his head. The two looked at each other, the implication slowly sinking in.

"Shit," Julius swore as the two released the man and began sprinting towards the wall, where they would hopefully find answers.

* * *

Paying no mind to the somewhat poor conditions of the buildings around them, Edwin fidgeted nervously as he focused solely upon the small house in front of them. Zahrati gently rested a hand on his shoulder, and simply that they had made it all this way, there was no need to rush. The faunus around them paid the two no heed, keeping their heads down and focusing on their own business.

After another minute of waiting, Edwin inhaled deeply and took a step towards the door. Tentatively, he knocked on it. Immediately, the two could hear movement from within, and the door opened slightly. Behind the door was a dog faunus, who looked worse for wear.

"How may I-" his gaze moved from Zahrati down to Edwin, and the words died in his mouth.

"Ed-Edwin?" he whispered shakily as his eyes began to water. He looked up to Zahrati, then back down, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

"Hi, dad." Edwin replied meekly, his eyes clouding over as well.

Edwin's father collapsed to his knees and drew Edwin into a tight embrace. Emotions passed wordlessly as tears streamed down both of their faces, and Zahrati smiled softly.

"Joseph?" a feminine voice asked from within. Another dog faunus, which Zahrati assumed was Edwin's mother, appeared. "Is everything alri- Edwin?"

"Hi mom."

She stared at Edwin, wide-eyed, then promptly fainted. Zahrati surged forward, catching her before her head could hit the ground. It was now that Joseph, Edwin's father, finally registered Zahrati.

"Please, please, come in!" He gestured excitedly, having trouble trying to contain his elation. The three walked into the sparsely furnished home. WIth Joseph's guidance, Zahrati placed Edwin's mother onto their bed. Afterwards, the three re-convened in the living room.

"Where are you from, err.." Joseph asked.

"Zahrati Nahlah. I come from the city of Nazef, in the kingdom of Vacuo. "

"Vacuo?" he asked in wonder. "It must have been quite the journey."

She smirked at that. It definitely was, but she felt that it was much more. From Nusar taking the escort request to the one-sided brawl in Al Ma'In to facing her childhood nightmare, she realized that she had done something in two months that many others wouldn't in their lifetimes.

"I cannot thank you enough, young lady." Joseph said he held her hands in his in reverence. "When Edwin went missing, we assumed the worst. Despite that, we held on to what little hope was left. Thank you, Zahrati, for preserving that."

"It was my pleasure."

The good mood changed when Joseph's ears perked up. Zahrati had heard it too.

The sound of Castinis' alarm bells.

"The bells?" Joseph asked nervously. "Are they testing them again?"

The ringing had a frantic rhythm to it, easily setting any listeners at unease. Zahrati stood, eyes narrowed.

"Stay here. I'll be back." she ordered, to which Joseph nodded. The alarm bells continued to ring in the distance as the faunus around her murmured in concern. As much as Zahrati wanted to figure out what was happening, she came to the realization that she did not know her way around Castinis.

A shadow passed overhead. And another. Looking up, her face paled as she gazed upon a nightmarish sight.

"No, no no no…" she heard a voice mutter next to her. It was a soldier, and both he and his partner were in a similar state of shock. Before she could ask them what was going on, the two began to run. Acting upon the quickly disappearing opportunity, she chased after them. In no time, she was rewarded with the sight of the town wall. The two soldiers clambered up a ladder, and Zahrati did the same. As she cleared it, one of the soldiers yelled something at her. Ignoring it, she looked for an opening in the wall, where there weren't soldiers crowding at the edges.

She had heard of them in stories and seen them in books, but nothing prepared her to see them blot out the sun as they circled overhead. It was now that she began to hear the first panicked yells as they mingled with the wailing of the Nevermores, and she tore her gaze back down as the earth began to rumble.

Eventually, she was able to find a spot between two soldiers. One of them tall and serious-looking, the other blonde and wide-eyed.

"Julius," the tall one pointed outwards. "Look."

A staggering swarm of Grimm, easily over a thousand strong, poured out of the forests and stampeded towards the wall.

* * *

 **A/N: And so it begins. The end of the beginning (pardon the phrase). This will serve as the first, and one of the most significant, catalysts to future events. How? Keep reading (even though I have to right to make any demands). This major arc should be over in the next two chapters.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Ch. 26:** The Breach

* * *

"Keep firing! We have to hold them here!"

The panic among the soldiers was unmistakable as the black wave of Grimm surged towards them, but training and muscle memory kicked in as the first orders to fire were issued. The steadfast presence of their platoon commanders kept their aims steady and true, and the soldiers took small comfort from the height of the walls as they towered far over the beasts. What was the Grimm going to do, try to climb it?

Were it so simple.

Julius breathed shakily as he quickly reloaded his rifle, quietly thanking whatever deities above for the armory stocked with ammunition within the town. With it, they would be able to hold the wall for far longer. However, that thought was promptly pushed aside as he leaned over the wall and pointed his barrel straight down into the snarling visage of a Beowulf. Eyes wide, Julius pulled the trigger, once, twice, the bullets shattering its bony mask. The panic that had been suppressed earlier began to leak once again, and the Grimm responded with reckless abandon.

They had quite literally piled on top of each other, creating a mass of black bodies that gradually scaled upwards towards the wall. They inched ever closer, slowly advancing upwards amidst the rain of bullets that fell upon them.

"Nevermores! Shields up!" the order was quickly relayed through the length of the wall. Julius was jerked backward as Troy pulled on his armor and shielded both of them. He listened as the air-borne Grimm provided their own suppressing fire. Most of the barbed feathers were deflected off the shields, but a few others struck true. A secondary order was quickly given to clear the wall of incapacitated soldiers.

The Grimm scaling the wall, on the other hand, took this opportunity to claw upwards a precious few feet. The gunfire from the soldiers roared anew as the soldiers struggled to take that distance back.

"Where are those cannons?!" Julius heard Sergeant Muller yell out as he placed a bullet clean through the eye of a juvenile Taijitu.

"They're en route, sir! They'll be here any minute now!"

"About time they- shields up!"

More feathers were deflected, but this time one of the Nevermores swooped alongside the wall, using its talons to rake soldiers off. As the screams of the fallen were buried under the Grimm, many of the soldiers around it took aim and brought it down. Yet again, the distraction allowed the wall Grimm to scale higher.

 _I wonder what happened to that other person._

She had been there earlier, standing between him and Troy as the Grimm cleared the forest. She had run off immediately after the orders were given to evacuate the citizens towards the southeast before anyone could question her presence there.

 _Why is this on my mind now, of all times?_ Julius grimaced as he slammed another magazine into his rifle and leaned over again. Every volley of gunfire sent dead Grimm tumbling back down, taking more along the way. And yet, more continued to stream out of the forests, every fallen Grimm being replaced by two.

Arms now beginning to tingle with numbness, Julius could do nothing more than to grit his teeth and keep firing.

* * *

"Alpha to the left! Take it down!" Connor yelled over the din. Five barrels, Donovan's included, swiveled and focused down the Alpha Beowolf. All Grimm were dangerous, but it was the older ones who survived, who learned from experience, that were the deadliest. As such, without specific attention, they would be able to avoid the worst parts of the rifle fire, allowing the younger Grimm to take the bullets for them. There were only so many fronts that the soldiers could fight on, Nevermores included, as one critical error would be all that it would take to throw the defenders into chaos.

With the Alpha Beowolf taken down, Connor scanned the skies around them. Out in the distance, he could see three large Nevermore turning towards them again, no doubt ready to unleash another barrage of feathers. They would have another twenty seconds of firing time, at best, before shields would have to be raised again.

"Those cannons would really come in handy right about now," Donovan grunted as he panted, having quickly run back after an ammunition restock, to which Connor nodded in agreement. With the Nevermores constantly giving the other Grimm time to scale the wall, it was a war of attrition that they would inevitably lose. Many airborne Grimm had been shot down, but there wasn't enough firepower to effectively deal with two fronts. They needed those cannons.

Their prayers were answered soon enough as orders were shouted from afar to make space. The cannoneers worked with haste, angling the barrels as far down as possible. With the cannon loaded, they waited for one order.

"Fire!"

The sloped mass visibly shuddered as they were rocked with artillery fire, with many parts caving in as they took shot after shot. Ever so slowly, the combined firepower of the rifles and cannons began to overpower the Grimm, and they found themselves slowly being forced down.

"Drive them back! The wall will not be taken!"

 _boom_

At first, it was impossible to hear it over the all of the noise and combat, but it slowly grew louder as the first heads looked out to the forest in confusion.

 _Boom._

More heads lifted now as even the Grimm seemed to hesitate. They could now feel faint vibrations reverberated in their bones, which was only exacerbated as the footsteps slowly grew in intensity. Connor looked to Donovan, who could only look back in uncertainty.

 _Boom._

A deep, menacing trumpeting could be heard as the trees in the forest fell to its advance. They could see some of it now of it now, huge bony spikes that came into focus as the forest line receded into the clearing.

"Goliath!"

Eyes widened as the elder Grimm now broke free of the forests. Its entire body was covered in bony plates, yellowing with age. Impossibly large spike protruded from its armored back, and there were four long and gnarled tusks, swaying ominously as its momentum became nigh unstoppable.

"Ready the cannons! Focus your fire on it!"

 _Boom. Boom._

"Fire!"

The booming of the cannons could barely match that of the elder Goliath's footfalls, and the first volley of cannon fire did little to stop it. Of all the things that could have happened, this was the worst. The airborne and wall-scaling Grimm were problems, but in both cases, the wall would remain standing. There would be contingency plans if the wall was taken, but at the very least there would be a wall.

But this? There was no contingency plan for this.

 _Boom. Boom. Boom._

"Bring it down! Bring it down!" There was a sense of desperation and urgency in the order now, and Connor could only watch as it advanced ever closer. There were now signs of damage in the bony armor as he and the soldiers fired at will, but it wasn't enough.

 _Boom. Boom. Boom._

It was nearly upon them now, the tremors throwing off their aim. But that didn't matter. As long as one fired in the general direction of the Goliath, it would hit. A massive crack could be heard as one of the cannons, in a stroke of luck, managed to fracture its mask.

"The head! Aim for the head!" at that point it wasn't much of an order anymore. Everyone had heard the crack, and fired upon it like their lives depended on it. As a matter of fact, it did. Ichor flowed out into the air as a bullet connected with one of its crimson eyes, to which the Goliath bellowed in agony. The gargantuan Grimm stumbled, if for only a step, as a cannonball lodged itself into its open mouth, and the soldiers dared to hope.

Were it so easy.

 _BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM_

"Clear the wall!" someone shouted. It was all the warning that could be given, and the final trumpeting of the elder Goliath drowned out all other noise as it trampled towards the wall, it's unstoppable momentum carrying it the rest of the way.

* * *

Zahrati looked back in the direction of the wall as she ran, wondering what could have caused such a noise. The tremors had done little to help, and this new noise, accompanied with a faint trumpeting in the distance, worried her even more. She turned the street corner and found herself back at Edwin's house. However, now there was a large gathering of other faunus, conversing with each other in hushed concern. All eyes turned to her when stopped.

"We've seen people heading towards the southern end of the town, but no one has told us what's going on," Joseph said as he held Edwin and his wife, who had come to. "What should we do?"

"Grimm," Zahrati answered bluntly, which drew a collective gasp from the crowd. "The soldiers are currently holding them off in the northeast, but you all should follow the rest of the townspeople and evacuate to the south. If you can, tell anyone who doesn't know yet. We don't want them to be anywhere near the Grimm."

 _To think that none of the faunus were notified._

Immediately, the faunus began to disperse. However, Joseph and his family had yet to move.

"You should go too. There's nothing to gain by staying here," Zahrati urged.

"What will you do?" It was Edwin who asked the question, and his parents looked to her for her answer. Zahrati considered her answer, but it didn't take long to come to a satisfactory one.

"I'll see if I can do anything to help the soldiers." She smiled at him. "I'll protect everyone like I protected you, Edwin."

"Are you sure about that, Zahrati?" Edwin's mother asked her. "Joseph told me about how much you've done already. Why don't you come with us? It'll be safer."

"You don't need to worry about me. I wouldn't feel right if I couldn't help to fight against the Grimm." Zahrati shook her head. Joseph and his wife didn't seem to like her decision, but Edwin gave her a silent nod.

"If that is the case, promise me that you'll stay safe," Joseph said, drawing her into a hug. "You still need to tell us the full story of your journey with Edwin, no?"

"I will. Now go," Zahrati instructed, and the three turned and quickly left. Now that the faunus were evacuating, Zahrati turned back to the wall, where she hoped things weren't too bad. Without a further thought, she picked up the pace and headed northeast.

* * *

Julius raised his shield as he stood next to Troy. When the Goliath breached the wall, it took most, if not all, of Platoon Twenty-one with it. Fortunately, that meant that they weren't hit. Unfortunately, that meant that by the time they had abandoned the wall, they would be standing right by the breach, where the area was already saturated by the Grimm.

And so they were in this situation now, surrounded on all sides. They stood in a circular formation, creating a ring of connected shields, two layers deep, yet it did little to improve the situation. The Grimm were far too close for their rifles to be of any effective use, so the order had been given to draw their swords.

Julius raised his shield to block a Creep as it launched itself at him, maw wide open. He then forced it to the ground and stabbed downwards, killing it. There was no time to recover, however, as Sergeant Muller barked out a single word.

"Nevermore!"

Shields were raised immediately, but screams filled the air as soldiers and Grimm alike were impaled by large black feathers. If the wall had stood, the incapacitated and the dead would have been moved off and sent to the southern portion of the city. But here, by the breach, they were as good as dead.

"Bring the injured into the center!" Muller shouted in defiance as he took the head off of a Beowolf. "Cover any openings in the formation!"

And so they fought, fought in the face of death, fought in the vain hope that they would survive. The air around them filled with black mist from piles of dead Grimm, but deep down, every surviving soldier knew that they would probably not see the next day.

"Nevermore!"

The order was followed, but before Muller could follow his own order, an Ursa swiped at him, knocking his shield aside and breaking his stance. The feathers fell, and the soldiers looked on with horror as one cleanly impaled Muller's chest. He gurgled as he looked down, a thin line of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. There was nothing they could do as the Ursa swiped again, sending Muller's now broken body tumbling to the side.

His death sparked a change in the rest of the soldiers. Now that his presence was gone, their will to fight drained away. The screams started anew as more men died, many of whom simply stood there and accepted the inevitability of their deaths.

* * *

"Platoon Nineteen, follow me!" Sergeant Haywood shouted as they filed into the streets by the broken wall. The order came out to abandon the wall and instead contain the Grimm by blocking off surrounding the streets. Fortunately, the streets now favored the soldiers, as the Grimm would be forced to funnel into an enclosed length of space.

The rifles cracked as Platoon Nineteen unloaded upon the approaching Grimm. Their bodies did well to create a natural barrier against any further Grimm, who would have to climb over their fallen.

"Hold them back!" Sergeant Haywood ordered as he fired his own rifle. The pile of Grimm was quickly stacking up, which made it far more difficult for the Grimm to advance. An Ursa Major that attempted to shove its way through the barrier or corpses lay smoking in front of the defensive formation, riddled with dust rounds.

Donovan's rifle clicked empty, as did Sergeant Haywood's next to him, and he sighed in exasperation as his magazine pouch came up empty as well. In no time, many others in the platoon were facing the same situation.

"Swords and shields out! Stay low and drive them back!" Haywood commanded, followed by a collective rasp of steel. The Grimm that cleared the corpses now had a shield wall to contend with, one that stood strong as it slowly advanced.

Donovan had never enjoyed the awkwardness of Form Three, yet he allowed himself to marvel as everything fell into place. He used the Beowolf's own momentum against it, sending it flying over his head, where it was quickly dispatched by the second row of soldiers.

Pushing through the bodies, Donovan allowed himself to hope that things would be alright. As long as the Grimm were contained close to the breach, they could be driven out with proper planning and minimal losses. What happened to Platoon Twenty-one was unfort-

 _Julius._

Donovan yelled out as a lance of pain erupted from the back of his head, forcing him to drop his sword and shield and clutch his head. Amidst the pain, Donovan could only feel dread as what could have happened to Julius. Platoon Twenty-two had been right next to Twenty-one when the wall was breached.

Within this turmoil, Donovan didn't realize that he had created an opening in the formation.

He felt himself tackled to the ground and dragged back as yells and the clashing of claws upon steel was heard.

"Fall back!" Haywood ordered. "Reform and hold the line!"

The secondary line now replaced the first, and they stood guard as the Grimm continued to fall. The pain was slow to subside, but when it did, Donovan shook his head to clear the last traces of the attack. Looking at Sergeant Haywood, his face paled.

"Sir…"

"Are you alright now?" Haywood grunted as he clasped Donovan's shoulder. He knew full well of Donovan's condition but trusted him enough to handle it. This time, however…

"Sir, your arm," Donovan muttered weakly. There were large, deep gouges on Sergeant Haywood's upper left arm, which bled profusely. In tackling Donovan out of the way, he had taken the hit instead.

Haywood tried to raise his arm with a wince, then let it fall with his shield hanging uselessly.

"Reeves! Bring the bandages over!"

In less than a minute, Haywood's arm had been fully bandaged, and he began to walk back to the forward line. It was only Connor's hand on his shoulder that stopped him.

"With all due respect, sir, it might be best if you fall back with Donovan," Connor told him. "You can't use your shield properly, and I'd rather not take the risk of losing our platoon sergeant. As for Donovan, we won't know if he'll suffer another attack."

Haywood narrowed his eyes at Connor, who stood firm. What Connor said was true, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. After a moment, he made up his mind.

"Corporal Damascus!" Sergeant Haywood called out to Connor. "Take charge of Platoon Nineteen! That is an order!"

"Yes, sir!" Connor saluted as Haywood left with Donovan. "Platoon Nineteen, follow me!"

Once again, they began pushing the Grimm back at a methodical pace. Eventually, they came to a junction where the streets stopped and became the clearing by the wall. There was a far greater density of Grimm here, and many turned in their direction.

 _Why are they turning to face us? Shouldn't they all be trying to advance towards the town in the first place?_

And then he saw them. A handful of soldiers, clumped together as the Grimm closed in around them. As they fell one by one, Connor saw a flash of yellow.

"Julius!"

* * *

Zahrati exhaled as she cleaved through a group of Grimm, not once breaking stride. That there were even Grimm within the town confirmed her sinking worry that the wall had been breached. To what extent, she did not know, but the growing density of Grimm as she neared the wall was telling enough.

She launched herself to the side, clearing the street as Nevermore feathers buried themselves harmlessly into the dirt. The airborne-Grimm existed in Vacuo, but they were no larger than a vulture. The ones here, however, had wingspans that could easily cover entire buildings.

Eventually she reached the end of the street, and her eyes fell upon the gaping opening of the broken wall. Copious amounts of black mist rose into the air from the corpse of a gargantuan Grimm, one with two sets of gnarled tusks. Grimm streamed from the hole, and Zahrati saw a group of soldiers fighting and making their way toward the center.

 _Why aren't they just holding their position?_

Following their path with her eyes, Zahrati gasped when she saw a single figure with blonde hair standing in the center, barely able to stand as he held his sword up.

Now knowing what she had to do, Zahrati let out a battle cry and charged into the fray.

* * *

Julius gulped as he held his shield high, looking all around him as the Grimm closed in from all sides.

He had forgotten what he was fighting for a while back. Both of his arms were numb, and a dark haze clouded his vision. That was his duty as a soldier, no? To fight? To serve and protect the people of the kingdom, no matter the cost? He looked over to where Troy had fallen after two Beowolves had jumped him. In his exhausted state, he wasn't able to put up much of a fight, and his ravaged throat was proof of that.

 _So much for duty_.

He kept swinging, kept killing, for fear of what would happen if he stopped. There was no courage here, no heroics to be found like in the stories of old. This was pure, unbridled desperation.

Eventually, he found himself swinging at thin air. Looking around, he could see no one else from his platoon. It was him, and him only. The Grimm had backed off, regarding him indifferently. There seemed to be a commotion off in the distance, but it didn't matter to him. They seemed to mock him, waiting for him to expend his last vestiges of energy before finally closing in to claim him.

With a growl, a Beowolf approached him and, sensing his exhaustion, held his head in a crushing grip with both paws. Not even noticing the strange behavior, Julius could only look up into its eyes, sensing a deeper, ancient entity behind those crimson orbs. There was a malicious glint to them, and the Beowulf lowered its head, its jaw ready to close around his head

Never did it consider that it would lose its own. Julius could barely comprehend what he was looking at as the headless Beowulf's grip loosened, and its body fell to the ground. Looking up weakly, Julius looked upon his savior. The woman from before. Looking past her, Julius caught a glimpse of Connor and Platoon Nineteen.

 _Oh, he's here. I guess that mean's everything will be alright._

He didn't register Connor's fearful expression then as the Grimm surged towards the lone platoon, nor did he hear the screaming of dying men. He was simply too exhausted to.

 _Her skin is quite dark. Vacuo, perhaps?_

He felt something impact his head, and the world went blissfully dark.

* * *

 **A/N: Here it is, the convergence point. So far, there has been no change to the current schedule, and so the first arc will end with the next chapter. But I'll talk about what's after that later.**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. RWBY belongs to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum.**

* * *

 **Ch. 27 — End of the Beginning**

Everything hurt.

His eyes cracked open, if barely, and light immediately assaulted his vision. Groaning, he shut his eyes and rolled away from the offending sunlight, regardless of how much his body protested. There was a slight throbbing pain in his right forearm, but he ignored that too.

"Ah, so you've finally come to. I was starting to worry."

The voice was a familiar one, which made him open his eyes once again. Although the figure was blurry, the clipboard in his hand and the flipping of paper was more than enough to identify him.

"Corporal… Corporal Strauss, sir?"

"It's good that you can recognize me, Private Arc."

Julius attempted to sit up but hissed as all of the muscles in his body flared in pain. Strauss quickly set a hand on Julius' shoulder, pushing him back down into the medical cot.

"It'd be best if you don't move for now. You still have a lot of recovering ahead of you to do. Also, your body probably won't respond properly with the medicine we've injected into you so far."

Julius' eyes lowered to his right forearm, where the stinging had been. Sure enough, the skin around the area was somewhat redder, and there were five red dots, indicating various injections.

"Just some standard morphine. Helps ease the pain, but the dosages are regulated to try and prevent overdependence. I was about to give you your sixth one."

"Sixth? How long have I been out for, sir?"

"One shot per day. Five milligrams per twenty-four hours, to be exact."

Julius' eyes widened. Six days?

"The wall-"

"-is currently being repaired," Strauss reassured. "Long story short, we received word that the Grimm had struck the northeastern side of Castinis, as opposed to the southwest, in the direction of Farrin. We mustered reinforcements as fast as possible and eventually halted the Grimm's advance. There is an active rotation as we speak, with four platoons constantly keeping watch on the breach as it is being rebuilt."

"But-"

"It would not do well for your recovery to dwell upon this, Private Arc. Rest assured, the situation is under control," Strauss stated firmly, fixing a level glare at him. "Now, the morphine."

Julius nodded, knowing to not push the matter any further. Or, at least, knew from Strauss' voice that he wouldn't be told anything else. He held his arm out, and Strauss quickly gave him the injection. Almost immediately, a wave of relief passed over him.

"How bad of a state am I in?" he winced as he tried to adjust his position on the cot to a somewhat more upright position.

"Well, to start, most of the muscles in your limbs were severely torn from overuse," Strauss said, gently pushing him down once again. "But, given the circumstances surrounding the breach, it's much better than the alternative."

"Torn muscles aside, you also suffered numerous cuts and lacerations, so we'll have to keep an eye out for any signs of hypovolemia," he informed Julius as he flipped through the papers.

"Hypo-what?"

"It's a state of decreased blood volume. To put it simply, you bled out a lot."

"Oh."

"As I was saying, things like dizziness, nausea, or dehydration. Your body is slowly replenishing the lost blood, but there is still always a chance that you could go into anemic shock."

"Uh, okay."

"And one last thing. You also suffered a moderate concussion due to sudden impact to the cranium. We'll also have look for symptoms of that, just in case."

"Aside from my body being on fire, I don't feel anything out of the ordinary, sir. How much longer do you think I'll have to stay here?"

"Fortunately, the worst part of the recovery is over. You can probably be released within a week's time. However, I've seen to it that you are exempt from active duty for an additional week afterward."

With a satisfied nod and a few more notes on the forms on the clipboard, Corporal Strauss set it back down on the table at the foot of Julius' cot.

"Take it easy, Private Arc. You've managed to survive in a situation where many would not, and pushed your body to its very limit. You'll need all the rest that you can get."

Julius let out a sigh as he let his eyes wander aimlessly. He didn't really care that he would be stuck here for another week. He was too tired, too exhausted, to care. The relief from the morphine didn't help much in that regard, either. Making no attempt to fight off his renewed drowsiness, Julius let his eyes shut again.

* * *

When his eyes opened again, the sun had almost dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow in the sky. To his side, brows furrowed in concentration, was Donovan, busy writing a letter. Noticing that Julius was awake, Donovan sighed put the paper down.

"Hey, Julius. How are you holding up?" he asked quietly, a relieved smile on his face.

"Hey yourself." Julius sighed. "Could be worse, but I'm not complaining. What are you writing over there?"

"A letter to Mom and Dad." to which Julius raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to tell them about what happened?"

"Of course. They need to know that we're alright."

"And my injuries?"

"The last thing I want to do is give mom a heart attack. Corporal Strauss said you'll make a full recovery, so I'll just tell her that you're fine."

"I guess that's true. Not that I necessarily feel fine," Julius attempted to quip.

"You were lucky to be alive."

"Well, what does it matter now? I'm alive and in one piece."

"Please don't say that," Donovan interjected. "Do you know how scared I was for you?"

"Scared? What are you talking about?"

"After the wall was breached, it didn't cross my mind that you were right next to where all the Grimm were coming in from. When the realization hit me, I forgot that I was still in formation, trying to hold the Grimm back. So many people had died in the initial breach, and I dreaded to think that you might have been a part of that number."

"Donovan, look at me," Julius instructed. "I am here, and I am alive. Don't dwell on what might have happened."

"But I have to," Donovan countered. "I promised Dad that I would look after you."

"And so you are now, Donovan. Everything will be alright."

"I guess, but it's not as easy as you say it is."

"What? Why?"

"Well, for one, neither of us really have much a platoon to go back to."

The mood dropped immediately What Donovan said was true for Platoon Twenty-Two, which Julius mournfully accepted. He shook his head to clear out the images of Sergeant Muller and Troy.

 _Neither of us?_

"What happened to Platoon Nineteen? What happened to Connor?"

"Well… about that. There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

 _"Julius!"_

 _Julius immediately lurched out of the way as a Boarbatusk charged through. The soldier behind him wasn't as fortunate, Connor's budding desperation only grew as the man fell silently._

 _He knew Julius couldn't last much longer. He had to get him out of there._

 _His head turned to the side as he heard a yell. He didn't know what surprised him more: that it was a feminine voice, or that it was immediately followed by a white-robed woman charging into the Grimm with a double-bladed axe._

" _Corporal Damascus, sir! Shouldn't we wait for the rest of the platoons to arrive?"_

" _We don't have time! We need to get the survivors out of there!" He needed to get Julius out of there._

" _Platoon Nineteen, forward!"_

 _Connor pushed forward at the head of the platoon, slowly taking down one Grimm after another. But it wasn't fast enough._

" _Come on! We have to keep going!"_

 _Julius was up ahead, still so far away. He was the last one standing and completely surrounded. Connor cut down another Grimm as he watched a Beowolf clutch Julius' head, ready to bite his head off. Julius made no attempt to struggle._

" _Damn it, Julius, fight!" Connor pleaded, but before the Beowulf could claim its prey, its head was cleanly parted from its body. The robed woman from before stood next to Julius. Immediately, she roughly tackled Julius out of a way as an Ursa Major ran through, looking to gore them both._

 _Connor wasn't as lucky. He yelled out as a Creep barreled him down from behind. He tried to rise, but found himself hard-pressed to get up as the Creep continued to snap at his face and neck. Making things worse were the rest of the Grimm approaching him, seeking fresh blood._

 _He swung his shield into the Grimm, stunning it, then ran his sword through it. Before he could rise, a meaty paw brought him back down. For all Connor knew, it was the same Ursa from before. The weight on his chest was incredible, and he struggled futilely to hack away at the thick limb as all the air was crushed out of him._

 _It can't end like this. Connor thought to himself._

 _As if to answer his thoughts, an explosion rocked the Grimm near him. The Ursa, now distracted, lessened its weight on him, and he used the opportunity to slip out from underneath. He dove out of the way as another explosion claimed more Grimm._

 _Looking towards the street, Connor saw a line of cannons firing upon the Grimm, as well as lines of men advancing in an orderly way toward the breach._

 _The reinforcements from the Castinis base had arrived._

* * *

The door to the building opened, and Connor walked in, flanked by two soldiers. Inside, heads turned around to look at him. Some with surprise, others with concern, but most held neutral expressions.

The room had been quickly repurposed to suit the purpose. Rows of seats facing forward, followed by a brief clearing before stopping at a table at the end of the room. Connor would have thought that there would be a presentation of some sort, and he wasn't half wrong. Except, this time, the focus would be on him. The manacles on his wrists attested to that much.

"We may now begin." Colonel Moran stated as Connor came to a stop at the clearing, between the seats in the back and the table in the front. He could feel the scrutinizing gazes of everyone in the room.

"We are here today to address the events that occurred during the breach of the Castinis wall, especially those regarding Corporal Damascus' misconduct. Normally, Damascus' superior officer would be present for these proceedings as well, but he is to be honorably discharged following the loss of his arm in the line of duty," he explained.

"The breach occurred on the northeastern portion of Castinis, completely opposite to the projected southwest, where the village of Farrin fell not too long ago. Platoon Twenty-one was lost immediately, as they were caught by the Elder Goliath before they could clear the wall. Barring a few survivors, most of Platoon Twenty and Twenty-two were surrounded lost to the incoming Grimm as they attempted to retreat. From the initial impact alone, approximately one-hundred and fifty soldiers were lost."

No one in the room said a word, there was no need. Common knowledge or not, the weight of the fallen commanded a solemn respect.

"Which brings us to you, Corporal Damascus," Colonel Moral said as all of the attention in the room once again returned to him. "As tragic of an event as the breach was, the death toll could have been kept at the aforementioned number. You, on the other hand, saw fit to do otherwise. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir," Connor responded. Looking back, Connor wondered why he acted the way he did.

"Very well. Today, this court, formed out of necessity by military law, charges you, Corporal Connor Damascus, with one count of reckless conduct, two counts of misbehavior before the enemy, and forty-four counts of involuntary manslaughter. Put simply, you acted outside of standard operating procedures, costing the lives of forty-four soldiers of Platoon Nineteen."

There was little Connor could do to dispute that. Not that he felt the need to, anyway.

"Do you wish to make a statement in defence, or perhaps listen to the witness testimony of the surviving members of your platoon?"

"One thing, sir," Connor said. "I ordered the platoon to engage the Grimm, if only to attempt to rescue the few survivors of Platoon Twenty-Two."

"A decision that resulted in more lives lost that saved. In the end, it fails to provide reasonable motive for such an order," Colonel Moran pointed out. "Is that all? Do you have any else to add?"

"No, sir. That is all, sir," Connor finished.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," Colonel Moran concluded, peering at Connor intently.

"Connor Damascus, for your crimes, you are found guilty on all counts of reckless behavior, misconduct before the enemy, and involuntary manslaughter of your fellow soldiers. For these crimes, you are to to stripped of your rank and dishonorably discharged."

 _That's what I was expecting. At the very least, Julius got out of it alri-_

"Furthermore, due to the severity of your crimes, this court, in the manner prescribed by military law, sentences you to be put to death."

* * *

 **A/N: And there it is. All of the pieces are finally set, now all that's left to do is to let the events play out. It's mind-boggling, at least to me, that after nearly a year and just under 100k words, this first arc is over. Talk about a slow fic, am I right? But I guess that has always been my original attempt. For a world-changing event as significant as the Great War in RWBY, it only seemed appropriate that it deserved a large, rich, and complex story for itself.**

 **That being said, I'm not going to leave what I have as is. Remember when I brought up the changes that I felt were needed for the story and characters? I've decided that I'm going to put new chapters on hold for the time being to go back and finally enact those changes to the overall plot, pacing, and character development themselves.**

 **Take chapter 21, for example. Within that chapter, Sutekh, the person of Zahrati's childhood nightmares, is introduced. He gets a little bit of characterization, and then he is immediately killed off in the same chapter. This happens a lot in many of the chapters (the breach of Castinis as another example), the whole episodic deal kind of thing. It works when someone is reading a new chapter once every two weeks because they also experience a real-world progression of time. However, for the fic itself, I feel that this disrupts the overall flow, as well as making it difficult to get more drawn into the story as a whole.**

 **Or the characters themselves, for example. I feel that Zahrati is decently developed as a character, if only because most of the chapters focus on her. As for Julius, Donovan, and Connor, they always have to split the chapter, meaning that each of them only has a third of the characterization that Zahrati has. Furthermore, the relationship between the three is something I want to work on. Are Connor's bonds of friendship with Julius and Donovan so strong that he would be overcome with emotion? Then what of the other characters? Some are quite important as plot devices in the story, but there is always the issue of having too many minor characters.**

 **Anyways, these are the issues I want to address. What will probably happen is that the chapters will very likely be expanded upon to smoothen out development (more reading, yay...). The plots within the chapters, and the overall plot, should remain unchanged (well, the bit with Sutekh will probably be the exception). For those who have read up until this point, I will have a chapter 27.5 or something similar to document any significant changes within the fic.**

 **For those of you who have reached this point, thank you so much. I will see you all soon (TM).**

 **As always, reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.**

 **-The Bard.**


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